Through times when I was down-hearted, times when I was losing hope, or times of sorrow, what always saved and sustained me was the brilliant light of the artist’s mighty force, providing me with the power to go on living.

It is in such power that I put my faith as a human being.

Kusama Yayoi

My 100th post! Not a very exciting one, though. This one and the last are quite bleak and filler-y.

1 January 2024

A Writing Breakthrough

Day 7 of being sick. I ate a peanut butter and banana toast for breakfast, still very much into Operation Gain Weight and Pacify Stomach. Then I took out every item in my suitcase and asked myself if I needed it. I managed to get rid of some eleven-months-old baggage.

In the absence of traveling and socialising, I recalled my debut novel. After years of grappling with plot problems, it suddenly dawned on me how to solve them.

I’d been writing fiction since I was six. This trip was my first time forsaking it. All this time venturing into non-fiction – all this time writing on a daily basis and improving – all this time growing and learning about myself helped me untangle those plot problems. People had been pointing them out for years, and now, I knew what to change.

No rush equalled this, as a writer. I just needed a few months to rewrite everything.

Today’s highlight: a writing breakthrough.

2 January 2024

Still Sick

The British-Romanian couchsurfing couple that Ray had hosted in early December returned today with a Spanish couple. The four of them had been volunteering at a ski resort in Hakuba, until the boss had fired them. Ray had agreed to let them crash for a month and volunteer at her teahouse instead.

Yet a Chinese friend of hers had also arrived for the next two and a half weeks. With Ray, her ex, and me, eight people were now living in a house normally inhabited by one tenant.

“I thought my house was bigger than it is,” Ray chuckled in my ear.

It occurred to me that she might be too good for our society. It also occurred to me that it was time to leave.

Ray, her ex, and her friend went out to eat. I also felt like I needed to escape this chaos. I took the subway to the immigration office, in order to make progress with my circumstances and figure out when to leave this country – and thus, when to leave Ray’s.

The immigration office was closed.

I took the subway back to Misasagi and went to my regular grocery store by the station.

It was closed.

New Year’s holiday in Japan was starting to feel a lot like a regular Saturday in Israel.

I grabbed some things from 7/11 and ambled back to Ray’s. This whole outgoing had me walking for an hour, and left me drained.

In the evening, I researched Japanese language schools in Tokyo. I’d been in contact with a couple for weeks. It was time to apply to one of them.

As I talked to my mom about budget, I realized my trip was reaching its final stage. I wasn’t sightseeing anymore, nor did I feel any inclination to. Kyoto had become utterly boring for me: I’d done everything free or cheap here, and found myself with too much spare time. I could never be happy living in this city.

The couchsurfing couples cooked dinner – soba and chocolate chip cookies for dessert. I’d thought the British-Romanian couple were stars in the kitchen, but the Spanish guy turned out to be an actual chef.

After days of fasting, it was just what I needed.

It was a bit awkward to learn that the four of them would share the other guest room’s double bed. Yet they’d come to Ray’s knowing this would be the arrangement. I traded with the Chinese girl, and slept on the living room couch instead.

Today’s highlight: soba and vegan chocolate chip cookies.

3 January 2024

Onwards to Taiwan

Another low-key day. Nutella toast for a late breakfast. I researched Japanese language schools, places to volunteer in this month, and Taiwan. I decided that if I’d live in Japan starting this summer, I’d stop sightseeing it, and save the rest of my money for a month in Taiwan.

I had every reason to go there next.

• Winter was the best time of the year. Others seasons were too hot and humid.
• February was the best month of the year. Tons of festivals for the Lunar New Year, and less people in Taipei, who’d be traveling during the holidays.
• Plenty of Taiwanese people had told me that China was likely to invade Taiwan in less than two years.
• I was already in the Far East. A flight to Taiwan was as cheap as a flight to Korea.
• When else would I have the opportunity to travel for a whole month – the requirement for every volunteering position? As well as the minimum amount of time needed to go around this country? Next year, I’d probably be working and studying.
• Taiwan would be cheaper than Japan. If I volunteered and couchsurfed instead of paying for accommodation, it would also be cheaper than Korea.
• I didn’t want to return to Israel just before my birthday in February. I wouldn’t be able to celebrate there.
• I’d befriended several Taiwanese people over the last few months who’d invited me to their hometown.
• Tainan, Taiwan’s oldest and most traditional city, would celebrate its 400th anniversary this year. To mark this occasion, the lantern festival would return there for the first time in 16 years. It would be on an unprecedented scale.

All in all, a long trip in the far east wouldn’t feel complete without Taiwan. (China and Hong Kong were a different beast.)

Dinner at Ray’s was pasta Bolognese and vegan brownies. The former shocked me by its edible quality. I’d been avoiding tomatoes and eggplants my whole life, yet tonight, in a fit of hunger, gave them a shot. The Romanian guy did make the sauce light on the tomatoes for me, though.

Today marked eight months in Japan. I couldn’t think of a way to celebrate this. At least I’d made up my mind regarding my next step.

Today’s highlight: pasta and brownies for dinner.

4 January 2024

• 12:48-12:55 Misasagi station to Sanjo Keihan station subway (Tozai line), 13:04-13:07 Sanjo station to Demachiyanagi station (Keihan railway)
• Shimogamo shrine (45m)
• 17:16-17:20 Demachiyanagi station to Sanjo station (Keihan railway), 17:28-17:35 Sanjo Keihan to Misasagi station subway (Tozai line)

Shimogamo Shrine

Temples and shrines in Kyoto often threw free events after New Year’s, such as Noh performances. I’d already done this sort of thing in Japan, and so picked Shimogamo shrine’s kemari (ancient Japanese soccer).

The two couchsurfing couples joined me. The shrine was extremely busy with visitors and street food vendors. Tree logs set on fire on New Year’s Eve were still burning at the entrance.

The kemari started half an hour late, and, having showed up at the last minute, we couldn’t really get a proper look. Elderly players clad in elaborate, traditional attire kicked a ball until it fell to the ground. It was a bit odd, and a bit underwhelming.

The Greek girl I’d met in Kyoto through my first couchsurfing host joined us. We’d been trying to meet ever since that dinner, yet both of us had recently fallen sick.

My companions informed me of an Israeli falafel restaurant nearby, so we headed there for a late lunch.

The owner was an Israeli man living in Kyoto for around thirty years. We talked a little. Unlike owners of previous Israeli restaurants, he was busy catering to two floors of diners.

My pita was delicious, if a bit strange (with lettuce and a non-Middle-Eastern spicy sauce). A fun meal – yet the restaurant in Shibuya still took the cake. Or the hummus.

In the evening, I applied for a Japanese language school in Tokyo, and for a place to volunteer in starting next week.

Today’s highlight: finding more hummus in Kyoto.

5 January 2024

Last Day of Errands in Kyoto

Today started with me discovering that I had more money in my bank account than I’d thought.

I almost screamed with joy. Perhaps Taiwan would actually happen.

At 13:00, everyone headed to Cloud Café (Ray’s teahouse). The couchsurfing couples began their internship, while I walked to the immigration office for fifteen minutes.

The office refused to re-extend my tourist visa, and said I was still ineligible for the Difficulty in Returning to Home Country visa.

After the Sapporo and Tokyo offices had both indicated that a return in early January, should the war still go on, would help me stay in Japan, now the office in Kyoto suggested I used the return flight I’d booked in October.

“You’ll have been here as a tourist for nine months in one year,” they pointed out. “This is quite unusual.”

I agreed. Moreover, if I went to Taiwan and returned in July as a student, there was little reason for me to beg for the Difficulty visa.

Back in Cloud Café, I planned my Taiwan itinerary. Then, in the evening, I dashed through the dark and quiet alleys of Gion to the official Ghibli store. There was not a corner in Ray’s house that didn’t feature Ghibli merch, and so I got her a pair of Tottoro chopsticks for a present.

My dislike of Kyoto aside, a walk through Gion at night felt like a proper farewell.

As for dinner, the British-Romanian couchsurfing couple had promised – and cooked – their unbeatable somen. It would be nice (and tasty) to reunite with them in the future.

I emailed the company where I’d interviewed afterwards. They’d already expressed their desire to hire me. Yet I refused to work weekends and holidays without getting overtime, and being paid little over minimum wage, to write emails for billionaire clients for nine hours a day. I would lose my personal life; I wouldn’t be able to improve my Japanese. Not even a work visa for Japan justified that. A minimum wage job with fixed shifts sounded better.

At midnight, everyone went upstairs, while I lay down on the living room couch. A picture of an old flame popped up on my social media feed. I missed him so much, that I cried myself to sleep.

Today’s highlights: realizing that my trip wasn’t over; somen for a farewell dinner.

6 January 2024

• 11:32-11:34 Misasagi station to Yamashina station subway (Tozai line), 12:05-12:55 transfer to Maibara station (Sanyo line), 13:00-13:35 transfer to Ogaki station (Tokaido line), 13:40-14:15 transfer to Nagoya station, 14:30-14:35 transfer to Sakae station (subway Higashiyama line)
• All my plans for Nagoya going down the drain
• 15:52-16:00 Shin Sakae machi station to Nagoya station subway (Higashiyama line)

Everything Goes Wrong in Nagoya

I woke today and realized my money wouldn’t suffice for both a flight ticket to Israel and enough time to see Taiwan.

I couldn’t go back to Israel. I couldn’t celebrate my birthday like this. I needed to buy myself more time between January and July. Taiwan would be it.

As I took a bunch of local trains to Nagoya, where I’d meet a friend for lunch and crash at his place for two nights, he texted if we could meet this evening. No problem – I went straight away to the museum on my list.

It was closed.

The galleries were being prepared for a new, rotating collection.

I walked to the station near my friend’s to store my luggage and wait for him. While looking for a coin locker, he texted that he was feeling under the weather, and asked to cancel.

I found a hostel near Nagoya station. This city offered little to no attractions, and now, I’d also have to pay to stay here.

Maybe it was time to leave this country. Ever since I’d left Shikoku and gone around Chugoku, everything that could’ve gone wrong, apart from two successful days in Tottori and Kinosaki Onsen, had gone wrong. Japan didn’t excite me anymore, because it cost too much. The cheap attractions, I’d already ticked off.

I felt the same way as in late July, when I’d gone from never getting enough of Korea, to counting the days until my departure.

At my dodgy hostel, I settled into a miniscule yet private room. There was only room for a single bed.

Back in Nagoya station, the tourist information center confirmed what every Japanese person had told me: there was nothing here but the mediocre castle. So I descended to the underground restaurant area for misonikomi, a local specialty. Basically, thick udon in miso sauce. It cost twice as much as a regular udon dish, but tasted quite well.

I returned to my room and found myself begging my brother to pay back money he had been owing me for years. Countless conversations on this topic had, in a flash, escalated into arguments. With my sister, it was the same. I was imploring them to return money that was mine only because I was left with no other choice. A flight ticket to Israel, especially if not through a Muslim country, was too expensive.

Money had always been a sensitive topic in my family, one that ripped siblings apart. Every generation in my family included members who had cut off ties for decades as a result of it. Most Jewish families I knew were like that.

I’d never really discussed this matter here. But after meeting countless people from various cultures, I’d struggled to understand why money, in my family, was such a difficult subject. One couldn’t bring it up without the conversation immediately turning into a fight.

Now, my brother refused to listen.

“You’re wrong,” he said when I pleaded my case. “You’re just making me feel angry, and that’s not going to convince me to help you.”

As if I was asking him (my twin brother) for a donation.

I found myself shaking with rage and sadness. I simply wanted what was mine, because I’d come to a point where I couldn’t survive without it. All these years, I’d turned a blind eye, choosing not to fight with him.

As I was approaching the days when I’d be living with my family again, it struck me how much I would never get along with them. We were polar opposites; they resembled each other, in personality, profession, and viewpoint, while I was the black sheep, ever since childhood, with different opinions about the world, different dreams, and a different financial attitude. They all had a short temper. And we disagreed on most things.

“You’re gonna come back home after one month, crying,” my brother had said one year ago, before I’d embarked on what was supposed to be a three-month trip to Japan. “Japanese people are robots. You’re flying all this way just to see some ice.”

I couldn’t imagine my future without Japanese people and ice.

My family had never approved of my life choices. People in Israel wanted you to get a proper job (lawyer / doctor / engineer, the only professions that counted, and the only professions in my family), a partner, and kids. And to do all that in the Holy Land.

“You need to come back to Israel, teach English at high school, find a wife, and bring me grand-grandkids, the way it should be done,” my grandma has been saying every time – every single time – we’d talked in the past years.

Israeli people were too judgmental and vocal about their judgment for me to live in Israel. There was only one way of doing things, and if you deviated from it, you’d never catch a break. Japanese people could be judgmental, too, but never vocal about it. And they were the polar opposite of Israelis. So, if I resembled them, they’d have no reason to judge me.

During my trip, my mom had pulled a 180. My whole life she’d been trying to convince me to stay close to her. Now, seeing how happy Japan was making me, she supported my decision to live here.

But I knew that the moment I’d live under the same roof with her, all my progress from this trip would evaporate. We’d get into arguments again, and I’d lose my freedom.

My family didn’t know a lot of things about me. So many, that Cowboy had pointed out that I was living a double life. It pained me to write this, because this was never my intention, but being the odd one out in a Jewish, Ashkenazi, Israeli family meant never feeling comfortable – and adequate – around them. Sometimes I felt like I couldn’t wear certain clothes or watch certain TV shows in their presence; couldn’t discuss my love life or my dreams, and be taken seriously. Life in Israel had reduced my colours to grey.

Perhaps my family was right in criticizing me. I’d achieved neither my career goals, nor financial independence.

All I wanted in life was to practice my passions. Yet I happened to be born with likes that didn’t align with society’s vocational standards. I’d never dreamed of amassing wealth simply for the sake of it – unlike some family members. I dreamed of creating art that was meaningful and changed people’s perceptions about life. I wanted to change the world, to be political in my endeavours. But I couldn’t even build a successful blog or a lasting relationship.

Sometimes, I wished I were born different. A straight, cis person who enjoyed engineering, agreed with public consensus, and wished to raise a family near his hometown. Life would be so much simpler in this case, with more money than arguments. Yet the person who fit this description was my brother.

Like last night, today almost ended in tears. I lay in my single bed, in my minuscule room, perpetually lit from the hallway, perpetually loud with machinery whirring outside my door, and realized I was about to lose my freedom. I was about to lose who I’d become. I was about to return to the life that had made me want to renounce it.

Today’s highlight: misonikomi udon.

Updated list of places I never want to inhabit again:

• Asahikawa
• Morioka
• Sendai
• Fuji Five Lakes
• Nagoya
• Nara
• Okayama
• Hiroshima
• Shimane prefecture
• Israel

7 January 2024

• 10:15-11:10 Nagoya station to Toyohashi station train (Tokaido line), 11:25-12:00 transfer to Hamamatsu station (Tokaido line), 12:10-13:25 transfer to Shizuoka station (Tokaido line), 13:35-14:10 transfer to Fuji station (Tokaido line), 14:15-15:40 transfer to Minobu station (Minobu line), 15:45-16:00 Shounin Kaikan to Minobusan bus

Minobu-san

I checked out in the morning and left Nagoya a day earlier than planned. With my friend being sick, there was no reason to stay in this boring city.

Shame that I couldn’t gift him the bottle of sake I’d bought for him on October 16, at a sake factory in Otaru he’d recommended to me. I’d been carrying it ever since.

I used the last days of my Juhachi ticket to ride local trains between Kyoto, Nagoya, and a small town near Mt Fuji for free. My destination was a temple that had accepted me for a volunteering position. They weren’t expecting me until tomorrow, but I hoped a day wouldn’t make a difference.

Once I’d resolved to stop sightseeing and save the rest of my money for Taiwan, it had become clear that I should spend the rest of the month volunteering in exchange for accommodation and meals. I could couchsurf here and there, but then I’d pay for food and attractions. A share house half an hour from Shinjuku had accepted me for a two-hour-per-day cleaning position, which sounded light and convenient. But then I’d go out to Tokyo every day, and waste money. Instead, I’d decided to sacrifice my social life and perform physical labour at a temple in the countryside, where I would also be fed.

Besides, if I was to finally leave Japan, a futon, tatami mats, and traditional meals were precisely the farewell I needed.

It wasn’t often when one could volunteer at a temple. I’d be lonely, it would be quiet, and there would be nothing to see in my spare time – but that was the point. No monetary distractions.

This was the off-season, and so the temple had warned me that the work would revolve around their renovations. It would take 4-5 hours each day. At least I wouldn’t be bored like in Nagoya and Kyoto.

And if they had an onsen on top of everything… that would be the icing on the Buddhist cake.

I missed Tokyo. I’d promised my friends we’d hang out again. I wanted to go partying and on dates. I wouldn’t be able to do this in Israel. Hopefully, I’d have the chance in Taipei.

As I snailed eastward through the Shizuoka coastline and then north from Fuji station to Minobu station, I enjoyed unobstructed views of the snow-capped Mt Fuji.

After six hours of local trains, I checked into the temple.

It stood on a hill on the outskirts of Minobu town, apparently one of the three holiest mountain towns for Buddhism in Japan. With more and more young people flocking to the cities, work force had diminished over the years. During COVID, the temple had opened its doors to foreign volunteers.

As a matter of fact, their number surprised me. Four French people, two Germans, a Mexican, and some Japanese as well. Yesterday, the Costa Rican girl I’d volunteered at a language café in Tokyo had left.

Futon, tatami, onsen, and teishoku every day: the temple met my expectations.

We made hot pot for dinner. Then, since everyone was taking turns soaking in the sento-like onsen, I waited in the staff room, resting on a message chair. A phone call to my sister regarding yesterday’s conversation with my brother immediately escalated into an ugly fight. Why was this the case whenever I talked to a family member? I would never be able to have a calm discussion with them about money or my future. And to think I’d been helping my sister since forever, in exchange for this treatment.

Shaking with rage, I realized distance from my family only did me well, and lamented the inevitability of my return to Israel.

I soaked in the bath afterwards. The temperature was just right. Every bone in my body felt the calming effects of an onsen. Especially on a mountain at night, in minus three degrees.

Instead of going up the creaky stairs to the second floor, where I would share a room with another volunteer, I fell asleep on a small and stiff futon in the staff room, under a pile of heavy blankets.

Today’s highlights: staying at a temple for the next two weeks; a relaxing bath at night.