Synopsis

In February 2023, after studying Japanese since the age of twelve, I finally travelled to Japan. It was my first foray into a non-Western culture (“I’ve Made It to Japan! | 日本に到着した！“).

I started with Sapporo Snow Festival, where I saw snow for the first time in fifteen years; 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 gatekeeping nature’s delights (“Life is Beautiful and Ugly | 人生は美しくて醜い“).

Kawayu Onsen and Lake Akan amplified my new 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 Earth. 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 | 誕生日“).

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 | 異性の客“). 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 ask for his number. Regret haunted me through my first capsule hotel and first overnight ferry, from Sendai to Nagoya (“My First Time | 初めて“).

Kanazawa, Shirakawa-go, a farm stay in Ainokura, and Matsumoto warmed my heart with their frozen charm (“Heaven and Hell | 天国と地獄“). By the time I bid snow a premature farewell and descended to Hakone and Fuji Five Lakes, so many problems arose, that not even Mt Fuji alleviated my regret. I searched for the Japanese guest in vain (“Things Go South | 下がりへ“).

Hakone, Nagoya, Kiso Valley. I moved from one place to another on a daily basis. Friendships formed and dissipated within hours, while my itinerary underwent spontaneous revisions (“Winding Roads | 曲路“). In Ise, Japan’s most sacred Shinto shrine went against all my expectations. No amount of planning could prepare 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 | 日出ずる国の一ヶ月間“).

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 wrong. I was ghosted, and felt abandoned even after departing Osaka for Nara’s Omizutori Festival (“Ghostin’ Around | 幽霊してる“).

A temple stay in Koya-san, the most sacred mountain for Buddhism, and a night tour of Okuno-in cemetery orchestrated the happiest and saddest night of my life (“Colour is Void, Void is Colour | 色即是空、空即是色“). 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 | 復活“).

Minshukus, mountains, and misty forests turned life existential. I recalled my fourteenth birthday, where I’d lost the balance between the brain and the heart (“To Be Alive, Part 1 | 生きていること、第一章“). The more I hiked, the more layers I shed, by sharing my innermost thoughts on existence (“To Be Alive, Part 2 | 生きていること、第二章“). 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 climatic night of my life (“To Be Alive, Part 3 | 生きていること、第三章“).

It seemed as though my trip hadn’t peaked with the Japanese guest from the digital detox ryokan. I was trying new things and reaching new heights. So I changed my plans in pursuit of more adventures.

An impromptu visit to Shodoshima, a small island I knew nothing about, saw me rushing to obscure, mountaintop cave temples on a foggy day at sunset. The temples’ unexpected marriage of nature, spiritualism, and art awed me so much, that I felt like a free spirit in the universe, confined by humans. 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 aspirations (“If That Didn’t Sum Up What Life was, I Didn’t Know What Did | それが人生を要するにしなかったら、要するにすることが分からなかった“).

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 were now in full bloom (“A Different World | 別世界).

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 | 人生は壮大だ).

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. This trip at present was the first time I felt comfortable enough to be myself (“Coming Out, Synopsis | カミングアウトの梗概“).

Then the thrilling escapades to nature peaked – and 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 a creepy scarecrow village by myself, 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 fulfil my dreams and find people who cared about my well-being (“Not What I Had in Mind | 思っていたのと違う“).

Peak blossoms in opulent Himeji Castle withered into decaying petals in Kyoto. Betrayal and human apathy made me vow to never let anyone hurt me again (“Bloom, Then Rot | 咲いてから腐る“). I found solace in Yoshino Mountain, the best place in Japan for cherry blossoms (“The Pink Paradise | ピンク色の楽園“). A new friend from Ukraine understood me more than every failed friendship (“The Best Two Months of My Life | 人生で最高の2ヶ月“).

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. This mentality meant that I would never grow into an adult (“The More I Matured, the More I Felt Like a Child | 成熟するほど、子供のように感じた“).

More temporary friendships at Takayama Festival showed how much travelling led you to marvellous places, only to pull the rug from under your feet. The world was wonderful – but like Tantalus, the moment you reached for its delicacies, they disappeared (“Travel was a Double-Edged Sword | 旅は両刃の剣“).

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: the joys of life were slipping through my fingers, and I couldn’t rewrite my tale (“A Writer With No Pen | ペンを持たない作家“).

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 | 考える猿“).

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. Dating someone for the first time while exploring the biggest city in the world allayed my alienation (“High on Life | 人生でラリッた“).

But my trip was coming to an end, and I had zero prospects for its aftermath. I couldn’t go back to wasting my life in Israel. At the same time, more nights of clubbing recreated Osaka’s ghostings and rejection. Life grew both high and low, and my heart kept crashing after feeling on top of the world. With tears over my doomed future, I decided to extend my trip using all my life’s savings.

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 | 映画の場面みたい“).

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 | 日本の暗黒面“).

Finally, I bid my favourite place in the world farewell at a cemetery that showed how much I’d grown, and how much of a failure I’d become. I cried more and more now, both out of anguish and joy. I wrote poems and partied every night until 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 live a year from now, nor be able to afford life on this wacky Earth (“Sayonara | さようなら“).

All “Japan: Round One” Posts