Category: Travel

One aspect of Japanese travel is, well, the locals tend to be nice. Nicer than people back home. Nicer than in a lot of other countries. That isn’t to say there aren’t people who aren’t nice — they’re here. They’re everywhere.

But, on average, an interaction in Japan with a stranger tends to follow a semi-formal, polite, and overly convivial pattern.

When they say “welcome,” you feel like they mean it.

Except for the one guy in the pharmacy I stopped at, who was quick to tell me “I speak English” — with the unspoken part being “idiot.”

Yeah, but I like speaking Japanese. Even if I’m not all that good at it.

“True adventure is not an experience that can be captured on television or sold like a commodity.” – Rolf Potts

But man, don’t we try.

When I looked at the busy paths of Mt. Fuji, what occurred to me is that we don’t stop to experience. We move forward to collect.

Not all of us, I know. And I sincerely hope that I don’t.

But we should be more aware of where we are – here and now is vastly more meaningful than there or then.

In the annals of travel, Japan is fairly well publicized. In fact, I’d argue that for the past three or four years, Japan has received, warranted, if somewhat unwanted, excess attention.

And why is that? One, the land is beautiful. Roughly 80% of Japan is mountainous, an island nation with sandy or rocky beaches all around. Its metropolitan areas are metropolitan in ways that few cities in the world can compare with. Some of the technology is mind blowing.

And there’s history, too. Amazing architecture, solemn reverie, and natural splendor. The residents take care of their place (Kabuki-cho notwithstanding, where you are apt to see litter, public intoxication, and touts offering all kinds of entertainment).

But even seedy Japan is no worse than something like Greenwich Village in New York, and much less seedy than some areas in San Francisco. It is about as safe a place as you could visit, which I think certainly adds to the touristy appeal.

On a plane. Again. I’ve been flying quite frequently this year. At the moment, I’m heading to LA, for a brief overnight stay, before heading back to Japan.

My brother and I have been taking yearly trips to the country for a few years now, and it’s always a good time.

I was first introduced to the culture and language when I was in high school. I was fortunate enough to enroll in the school’s first Japanese language class, and I’ve had a semi-love affair with it ever since.

In fact, I study the language every day, even if only for fifteen or thirty minutes at a time.

Not that I’m fluent, by any stretch of the imagination. But I do speak enough to get lost, or unlost, while visiting.

Travel stopped being an adventure when the trip became too fast. It became a drive. A flight. A day or less, anywhere in the world. Luxuries became common, and we were able to pack our comforts in ways that we weren’t able to before — and certainly wouldn’t, if it were an adventure.

What do we lose when the destination is all there is?

Sink hole appears in Russia, measuring in at 164 feet across. Read the Popular Mechanics article for more.

 

Several months ago I left Alaska returning to the lower 48. I flew through Seattle, and the plane was empty. The airport was empty. The city was empty. 

It's been surreal, living in this era of ghost towns, where rather than sundown, it's the closeness that people fear. I can take a walk, and people will cross the street rather than walk close by. I find myself holding my breath as I come across people, whether grocery shopping or getting the mail. 

Ed Buryn once wrote, "If you view the world as a predominantly hostile place, it will be."

And while in past travels that would be true, right now it's more a matter of uncertainty. No one knows. We all think, and hope, and wait. But the certainty has been escaping us.

I don't know when travel will be possible, and when meeting with people in celebration of life will again be safe. But I do know that, no matter when it gets here, it can't be soon enough.

One year ago, I was just back in the lower 48. Now I’m back again from Alaska, only several weeks removed.

Last year, after my visit, I knew that I wanted to return. I’m glad that I was able to. Now being back this time, it’s like the world fundamentally shifted.

I think it feels like that for most people right now. I, like many, are left wondering: when will it be back to normal?

On walking around through various parks and city streets, I notice the importance of taking one’s time.

We’re often consumed by the need to be connected and now, maybe more so than ever, our connections are only possible through devices.

When you take the time to travel slowly, to linger, to be idle (while socially distant, of course), you have the opportunity to see things you’d otherwise miss. You hear the birdsong. See the leaves billow in the wind. Branches swaying.

There’s no one right way to travel the world. But there are things that are missed when moving too quickly.