Comfortably Uncomfortable in Japan

Friends!

I know, I know…This post is very, very late. Embarrassingly so.

I visited Japan in the first half of May, and here I am three months later, pushing ‘Publish’ with shame and self-flagellation (very Japanese of me).

A lot has happened in that period. I went back to the States and then to Europe for the summer. I spent two weeks in Portugal, a long weekend in Ibiza, and some quality time with friends and family in Sofia and the Bulgarian seaside.

I am now back at my desk in NYC doing a final edit of this baby. Full circle…

I procrastinated a lot. I hadn’t had a slow European summer in more than a decade. It turns out that slow mornings and lazy weekends are very pleasant…especially in good company.

But I never forgot about Japan. That experience has remained burned into my brain, and I’ve brought it up in many conversations.

I can safely say that Japan is the most distinct and unapologetically unique country I’ve ever visited. And I spent only a week there, mainly in Tokyo. I’m sure the rest of the country is even more surreal.

What a place!

I knew I was in for a ride, but I was not prepared at all. While I had been practising the sushi/ramen + sake + beer ritual for years, I was less adept culture-wise.

Were all the rumours and movies true?!

For years, I've carried two vignettes about Japan with me (aside from the stunning Shun 8” Classic Chef’s Knife).

The first one is that endlessly fetishised part from ‘Jiro Dreams of Sushi’, where they talk about the years it takes apprentices at Jiro’s restaurant to perfect rice-making and tamago (a Japanese omelette).

The second is from Danny Meyer, the renowned New York restauranteur behind institutions like Gramercy Tavern, Shake Shack, 11 Maddison Park (in its early days), and Union Square Hospitality Group, which has a portfolio of many other restaurants in the city.

In a podcast a few years ago, he shared the story behind the opening of Union Square Tokyo almost 20 years ago. At the time, he couldn’t understand why a very successful restauranteur from Tokyo would be interested in such a partnership, and he received the following response:

While this may sound exaggerated, I promise you that is not the case, and these two stories provide the right frame of reference.

• I went to an old, family-run café, where only the father was allowed to make the pour-over, going through the same motions with clinical precision for each cup while the mother and the son were preparing the other drinks.

• I had a French croissant at a bakery, prepared by Japanese pastry chefs, which was as good, if not better, than the best croissants I’ve had in France.

• I forgot my credit card while paying at that same bakery. Upon returning minutes later, the female cashier awaited me on the side. Deeply ashamed, as if it was her fault, she extended her hands while holding the card, bowed and apologized.

• I met the jazz and rock fanatics. I drank with them. They exist and are as obsessed as the characters in the stories.

It’s all there. It’s not a lie. Go see it.

And yes, the sun does rise there first.

In many ways, this was the most challenging post to write, not because of a lack of material but because of a lack of a straightforward narrative and the need for a lot of context, set, and setting for each story to feel as meaningful as I experienced it. Yet, it turned out to be the longest one, and the one I’m most proud of.

Australia and Bali were longer trips filled with nature, adventure, friends, gorgeous sunsets and sunrises, and, in general, an environment that lends itself to engaging writing. Japan was different. There was no thrill, action, or euphoric, dopamine-releasing moments—at least not in the classic sense. Most things happened on the inside.

So, what follows is a series of independent vignettes that encapsulate my week in the Far East. Once looked at in the aggregate, from a distance, they start giving contours to this magical puzzle called Japan.

And remember…this is not a travel guide, just my own adventure. You do you.

Demographics Are Destiny

Financial markets have been one of my obsessions for more than a decade, and I am endlessly fascinated by the downstream effects finance and economics have on countries, societies, and cultures (the good, the bad, and the ugly).

If you’ve followed or studied events over the last few decades, you know what intriguing case studies Australia, Indonesia and Japan are.

Australia is one of the largest global economies and the top exporter of commodities the world needs—iron ore, coal, and others. It’s a giant island/continent/country at the end of the world with a small population mainly spread across a few coastal cities. It hasn’t had a recession in 30+ years and has a booming housing market that refuses to collapse.

Indonesia was one of the primary victims of the 1997 Asian Financial Crisis when its currency lost more than 85% of its value against the US dollar. In simple terms, this means the $20 fish market lunch I wrote about last time would cost less than $3 after a massive devaluation like that (if they kept local prices the same). Notably, that cheap currency, alongside the proliferation of fast internet, affordable travel, and, more recently, COVID, are some of the main preconditions that have transformed gorgeous Bali into a popular hub in the last 20 years.

And then there is Japan.

It’s hard to discuss any aspect of Japan, be that its economy, culture, or traditions, without mentioning its demographics.

(I know, I know…I promise we will get back to eating, drinking and vagabonding shortly. But this is an integral part of the story, so please give me a few minutes and stop eye-rolling.)

Demographics is simply a way to classify a population according to its size and composition (e.g., age, gender, race, income, etc.) and how those variables change due to the interplay of births, deaths, and migration.

Yearly Population Change = Births - Deaths + Net Migration (immigrants - emigrants)

It’s pretty straightforward math that can be projected decades into the future, assuming no one-off extreme events like plagues, famine, wars, refugees etc.

And it’s this simple math that alters countries and cultures in subtle or very meaningful ways.

It’s the reason why:

1. Taco al pastor, a staple of Mexican cuisine (and my personal favourite), exists.

   • In the late 19th and early 20th century, Lebanese immigrants to Mexico introduced the country to the vertical spit roast.

2. Miami feels like a city somewhere in South America (in a good way)

   • More than 70% of Miami’s population is of Hispanic/Latino descent.

3. 7 of the 15 Michelin-starred restaurants in Sao Paulo are Japanese.

   1. Brazil, of all places, has the highest ethnic Japanese population outside of Japan (more than 2 million), and around half of them live in Sao Paulo.

This takes us back to Japan.

In 2023, the country had more than twice the number of deaths (1.58m) compared to births (727k), meaning the total population would shrink by almost a million without immigration.

Well, let’s just say that more than two centuries of self-isolation (1639 to late 1850s), strict immigration policies in the following decades, being on the wrong side of the deadliest war in history, and generally being at the other end of the world has resulted in minuscule levels of immigration and limited integration of foreigners into mainstream society.

To put that into perspective, currently, around 2% (3 million) of Japan’s total population are immigrants, and many of them are ethnic Japanese coming from South Korea or Brazil. This is considerably lower than the average 15% observed in other developed nations like the USA, Germany, the UK, or even Australia, which is even more remote.

The net migration to Japan is so low that they will need more than 15 years (at current rates) to plug the deaths/births gap for 2023.

Meanwhile, younger Japanese generations have fewer children because of socio-economic realities in the country. And despite some meagre attempts by the government to intervene, like slightly improved immigrant visas or a government dating app that feels like you are filing your taxes, it’s hard to reverse policies, culture, and an overall mindset that dates back centuries.

The net result is a progressively older and shrinking population.

And if we know one thing about older generations, they are less prone to change and less influenced by the temptations of modernity.

Ok. Ok. So what?!

Well, that is a very long way of saying that Japan has managed to protect its culture and traditions through centuries of deliberate choices, chance, and the fact that it’s one of the very few countries never to be colonised (despite the feverish attempts by the Portuguese and Spanish Catholics, beautifully captured in Shogun).

Undergoing early industrialization during the long period of self-isolation fostered the growth and protection of Japan’s distinctive culture and traditions. The strict limitations on foreign trade compelled the Japanese to make the most of their domestic resources, leading to an ecologically conscious society centred on reusing and recycling materials and adopting sustainable practices that minimized waste in their daily lives.

Byproducts of this culture, among other things, are:

• A minimalistic lifestyle and being content with having ‘enough’.

• Frugality – Japan has the highest personal savings rate amongst industrialized nations.

• The fascination with nature, finding beauty in imperfection and accepting that nothing is permanent or perfect. (Wabi Sabi)

• Order and Hierarchy – central to Japan’s culture.

• A slower pace of life – some things take time, and we shouldn’t rush them (like animation, which I will get to in a bit).

• Cleanliness—Judging by the places I visited (Tokyo, Hakone, and the trains connecting them), Japan is one of the cleanest countries in the world. This is surprising given how few public trashcans there are, which can irritate a New York-based individual used to living in trash…

Frankly, it’s a fascinating story that I am grossly oversimplifying.

The moment you arrive, you are teleported into another dimension you’ve only heard about but never truly believed existed.

The general strategy for the seven days in Japan was pretty simple: focus on Tokyo, wander around different neighbourhoods during the day, eat as much raw meat, ramen, rice, and 7-Eleven sandwiches as possible, and then at night, hop around various bars and music venues and see what trouble I could get into.

I had this brief idea of trying to squeeze in two days in Kyoto, but thankfully, I won the fight against that FOMO and decided instead to spend my last 24 hrs in Hakone, the beautiful mountain town next to Mount Fuji, known for its hot springs. Japan is too large and diverse to cram into a single trip. It was immediately evident that I would be back for a longer stretch, so there was no point stacking yet more kilometres to my final score. Kyoto had to wait for next time as I had other plans for now (see quote at the top).

So, Tokyo…

Last time, I mentioned I had booked a capsule hotel, which was a solid idea for this particular trip and cultural submersion, with a few caveats.

What I Loved

Despite some discomforts I share below, the capsule hotel I stayed at was unbeatable in terms of value for money. Located next to Shinjuku Station, right in the thick of things, you are within walking distance or a few stops from basically everything. Even if you decide to party in Shibuya (an adjacent neighbourhood) until early morning, you can still walk back in 45-60 minutes while enjoying a lovely sunrise and walking off whatever you’ve consumed. Not that I would know anything about that…👀

The hotel was so conveniently located that I went back to it several times a day to change, chill, shower, etc.

It costs $60 per night, and you can book it the night before and extend the day before check-out. I paid $300 for 5 nights, which I then spent on a single night in Hakone.

I can’t really describe how clean this place was—it was shining. It’s cleaned 24/7. You take your shoes at the entrance and then go through the changing room on the ground floor, so by the time you go up the elevator to any of the rooms or facilities, it’s like you are in a sterile environment. Genuinely mindblowing.

Most people I share this experience with find the whole sleeping arrangement weird and uncomfortable. And I get it…it does look a little daunting.

Having done Burning Man twice (currently preparing for a third) and spent a few summers sharing an RV at the Bulgarian seaside with more people I feel comfortable admitting, I don’t seem to have that classic claustrophobic gag of small places. In fact, the sleeping part was one of the highlights for me. The complete darkness and insolation from any external noise allowed me to pass out immediately. Or maybe that was all the drinking…

What I Hated

Let me preface this by saying this is likely a ‘George issue’ and not a ‘hotel issue’. In a classic Japanese way, the hotel 100% delivered on its promises—nothing less, nothing more.

And yet, being surrounded by an exclusively male cohort of Japanese salarymen, poor students, and the European hostel crowd, all of us living off a locker, wearing the same outfits, showering and sleeping together, and then eating rice in the common area surrounded by comic books (no joke!), genuinely made me feel like I’m in some sort of prison with all other rejects of society.

It was the perfect cocktail, alongside little sleep and plenty of drinking, for several very dark moments. The monkey mind has no rest.

Would I do it again?

Yes, I would. Now that I know what to expect, how to navigate it, and how to pack for it, I can definitely spend up to 3-4 nights there if I’m on my own or with guy friends.

Tokyo Days

The days were spent aimlessly walking around, drinking too much coffee and matcha, eating like a pig at the fish market and around different neighbourhoods, buying quirky vintage shirts, and experiencing the rest of the fashion madness in Harajuku and Omotesando.

It’s normal for McDonald’s (and other food chains) to have unique menu items in different countries based on differences in local taste. However, a Louis Vuitton bag tends to be the same around the world, except for Japan. Fashion is at a different level here. Most brands, from sportswear to high fashion, have items and collections specially made for the Japanese market.

On Friday (10 May), I was on the subway in the early afternoon when my phone rang. It was a call I’d been expecting for a few days—my best friend’s wife was video-calling me. I immediately knew what I would see on the other side because she had been pregnant for the past 9 months. I picked up (trembling). She was in a hospital bed, and my friend was next to her, holding a brand new life wrapped in a cocoon. All of us were laughing, and nobody said anything.

The only thing that stopped me from crying was imagining the bizarre scene—a subway car filled with reserved Japanese people and a single white guy, taller than most of them, sobbing.

Viva la vida!

—

The only thing I had planned in advance was to visit the Ghibli Museum, the home of the famed Japanese animation house Studio Ghibli.

Arguably, it drove the timing of the entire trip because getting tickets (as a foreigner) is a pain in the ass, and you have to do it at least a month in advance. I had mine in March for an 8th May visit.

Now, WTF is Studio Ghibli, and why is this museum so special?

These are perfectly reasonable questions that I would have asked myself several years ago.

You see, Ghibli is like a niche religion. Unless you are really into Japan or passionate about the worlds of art and animation, there is a high chance Ghibli’s existence has escaped you, given the infrequency of their movies and Oscar nominations.

That said, If you’ve dated extensively (or strategically) in big melting pots like New York or London, you’ve likely met a Ghibli missionary – the girl working in a museum or a gallery (or the one that frequents them), the art director or designer living in Bushwick or Dalston. You know the type.

I’ve had the pleasure of meeting two such rare unicorns.

Hat tip to my lovely companion from Kyrgyzstan circa late 2020, who worked at the Whitney Museum in New York and one night insisted we watch Spirited Away while also providing the gummies for an elevated experience.

Then, earlier this year, as I was organising my trip, I was introduced to My Neighbour Totoro and reminded about Ghibli by someone special in London.

In any case, if you want to glean into Japanese culture, just study Ghibli. What makes them so unique and their founder, Hayao Miyazaki, an absolute god in animation circles, are precisely some of the cultural elements I outlined above.

For starters, their movies are entirely hand-drawn. Why use modern approaches to digital animation when you can throw bodies and pencils at the problem?

Because…good things take time, and craft cannot be rushed.

Their latest film, The Boy and the Heron, which won the Oscar for best animation in 2023, took 7 years to make and had a $100 m budget (it is the most expensive Japanese movie). Generally, large US studios spend just as much on marketing as the production budget for their most expensive films. Not Studio Ghibli. They launched the movie without a trailer in Japan, only a poster. They had 1-2 trailers for worldwide distribution, and that was it.

Why?

I can only imagine it had something to do with protecting the integrity of the art without overexposing it to capitalism and Western values. Sure, they want to make money, and they know they will, but not at the expense of the art. The art always comes first for them.

To be clear, I’m neither supporting nor condemning this approach, only observing.

The museum itself follows in the same footsteps. It’s a work of art and a teleport into another dimension.

It’s in a beautiful park outside of the hustle and bustle of central Tokyo. They could have easily built an amusement park and promoted it aggressively to foreigners. They have the depth of stories and the adventurous characters to do so.

Instead, they called it the “Ghibli Museum”, not “GhibliLand” or “Ghibli Park”, and ensured locals got preferential treatment, and it was more difficult for foreigners to get in.

I haven’t been to Disneyland, but usually, the stories I’ve heard from people revolve around specific rides and attractions: “I loved the Harry Potter ride” or “I was disappointed by the Star Wars area.”

Ghibli Museum is different. Sure, there are specific things to see and do, but the magic lies in the masterful blend of big and small details into one whole that leaves you in complete awe.

It all starts with the building's exterior architecture, which feels like a maximised cartoon and feels in complete sync with the surrounding nature. Different seasons bring a distinct, unique feeling to the exterior, which is also remarkable. I’ve only seen it in summer.

Then you go in and start observing your surroundings—the giant ceiling fresco in the entrance hall, the high-ceiling central hall with a glass dome, the stained windows on the doors, walls and the dome featuring Ghibli characters, the staircases that go up and down and across the central hall, and the spiral staircase leading to the top.

It feels like you're in a small church from the Harry Potter world but animated and without a hint of tackiness.

Each area has a different purpose. You get to see the end-to-end process of creating a hand-drawn animated movie, including some early storyboards of famous films, plus many other things I won’t get into. You will have to see for yourself.

Two of my highlights (ranked below the overall experience):

1. The three-dimensional zoetrope that uses rotation and light to trick your mind into believing actual 3-D characters are jumping in front of you. I must have spent 15 minutes next to that thing trying to figure out how it worked. It genuinely boggles the mind.

2. The little cinema room, with yet another ceiling fresco, where you can watch exclusive shorts with characters from their movies.

On the top floor, there is a massive plush cat bus where kids play, jump, and scream loudly. Sadly, I was not allowed in…

Tokyo Nights

Nights were for drinking, talking to strangers, and observing the spectacle. As simple as that.

The first night, I went to the Golden Gai, a tiny square-shaped district consisting of a few parallel walking paths and many bars on each side. Most bars can seat less than ten people.

I picked a random bar based on a two-second vibe check and grabbed the only seat (of 8 total). A tall bartender with massive curly hair from the 70s greeted me with a smile.

“Konnichiwa! What would you like to drink? Do you need a menu?”

Now…I’ve been training for this moment for more than ten years. I responded without hesitation, still taking off my jacket:

“I’ll have a Junmai sake and a draft beer.”

A little shocked, judging by the colourful drinks most foreigners seemed to order, he exclaimed: “Ooh, you’ve done this before! What’s your name?”

“George.”

“Georgi-san, sit down. Your sake and beer are coming.”

The guy was called Tomo, or Tomo-san, and I liked his bar so much I spent two nights there meeting locals and some rambunctious travellers. The first night, I closed the bar with him and Momo, a female bartender from a bar across the street. We talked about his past music career (hence the hair), life in New York and Bulgaria, and more, which the sake seems to have erased. Oops.

At the end of the night, Tomo and Momo started flirting and exchanging looks as she got up to leave. These two definitely had a history or will have one.

Nights were also for…music. I wouldn’t have guessed that before my trip, but Japanese people are obsessed with Western music—jazz, rock, disco, techno, you name it.

Tomo, with his music past and curated playlist, was just a taster. Then, I went to several listening bars and venues that were scientific about music…

The two listening bars I visited had equipment and vinyl worth many tens of thousands of dollars. One of the bars had two sets of speakers – one for vinyl, the other for digital. The owner of the other bar had 2,000 vinyls in the bar and 2,000 more at home. The focus in both bars was on the music. Yes, people were drinking and talking quietly, but nothing was allowed to overpower the music. The bartender, usually the owner, was also the DJ. All guests could select a song. The vinyl cover of each new album played was displayed for everyone to see. Many conversations revolved around the music. Both bars didn’t let anyone in after all seats were taken, despite plenty of room for standing up next to the bar – again, art first, then commerce.

Then there was that techno I went to on Saturday night. The folks invented an entirely new type of speaker and purpose-built a space underground to reflect the best sound. The place felt like a giant underground vacuum chamber with several consecutive entry doors to ensure the sounds didn’t escape.

When I arrived at the building, I thought there was no party because I couldn’t hear a beep. Downstairs, it was a different story. Packed yet manageable, pristinely air-conditioned, and without any ungodly smells typical for such venues across Europe. Nobody was at the bar or lining up with a buddy or two for the group toilet stalls. Some people were chilling and talking, but most were going mad in front of the DJ, holding a water bottle. I gatecrashed the most awkward attempt of an LSD sale on the second floor, which felt like the only naughty thing this place saw that night. The techno was great, and the whole thing was rather unusual—another sunrise under my belt.

24 Hours In Hakone

After five days in Tokyo, 20k+ steps a day, nightly bar hopping, and 5-6 hours of sleep, culminating with that rave on Saturday until sunrise, I woke up on Sunday in terror and wanted to leave Japan immediately. I needed a proper bed in a proper room in a familiar environment to recharge my social and physical batteries.

There is a reason why we call them “Sunday scaries”…

With fully flexible tickets, I genuinely considered leaving that Sunday night…oh, the fear and loathing! 

But, ‘past’ George had other ideas. And if there is one person I trust with my life, that is ‘past’ George (assuming he was in the right state of mind).

The plan was to go to Hakone for some 24 hours of zen, so off we went (‘we’ being me and the scaries).

After some Google Translate manoeuvring, which felt like mental calculus at that moment, I had the right ticket and sat on the right train in the correct seat. God forbid you sit in a different seat, even if it’s free…

Holding a Red Bull (no sugar) firmly in one hand like it was God’s elixir, I could finally relax and enjoy a magnificent train ride across the outskirts of Tokyo and the foothills of Mount Fuji. It was raining, and there was also a slight mist, so I could only see parts of Fuji for a few brief moments. Yet another thing that will be on the agenda for next time.

The train, of course, was pristine. To say that the Japanese take their trains very seriously would be an understatement. Several years ago, a rail company apologised after one of their trains left 20 seconds…early. Yes, that’s right. Also, where else does the conductor bow before crossing from one train car to the next?

Only in Japan…

So, I reached Hakone train station and walked to my ryokan alongside the river in the rain. Thank you, water-resistant trench, and thank you, ‘past’ George, for packing it.

It was too early to get into my room, so I left my backpack, hopped back on a train, and went 30 minutes north to spend the afternoon at the Hakone Open-Air Museum, which a British guy I met at a bar in Tokyo recommended.

While the individual artwork itself wasn’t that memorable, the museum's environment proved to be the main event. Walking around the expansive outdoor grounds, where the art was thoughtfully nestled among meadows, rivers, and trees, was an exceptionally tranquil experience that was well worth the time (especially in my dishevelled state).

Back at the ryokan, it was time to settle into my room. Having defeated the scaries and with a few thousand steps under my belt, I was starting to cultivate an ambitious hunger. I was excited about the traditional kaiseki dinner I booked for later that night.

After I took my shoes off at the entrance (of course) and put on special slippers, an old guy gave me a tour before taking me to my room. The interior was exclusively made out of wood, and we went through these long, tight hallways with giant windows on one side, where you could see the outdoor gardens, forest, and river. Essentially, the ryokan was built in the forest right above the river, so it felt like I was part of nature. Also, the only sound I could hear the entire time, aside from the nonsense in my head, was the river.

A door slid in front of me, and I was ushered into my room, which was exactly how I’d seen them in the movies – tatami floor, sliding doors with painted images on them, a small table in the middle of the room, a balcony with windows overlooking the river, etc. etc.

I was told to settle in and wait for someone else to come with dinner in a bit. As you can imagine, this clueless gaijin felt utterly lost alone in this space and felt compelled to examine each area and item carefully.

I found a traditional yukata (like a kimono) folded and waiting for me in the changing room.

“Ok, how difficult can it be?!” I thought to myself.

With the help of a humble AI assistant, I managed to put it on just in time before a knock on the front door.

“Yes, come on in.”

The door slid, and this tiny lady, at least 75 years old, slightly hunched over, dressed in a yukata herself, walked in with the warmest smile. She murmured something in Japanese, and my face responded with terror and confusion.

She smiled, pulled out a phone, and started talking into it. Then, Google Translate did its magic, and a lovely AI voice repeated her words in almost human English. I responded, and she understood me immediately. Suddenly, I could speak Japanese. Magic.

The world will change drastically over the next 10 years…

With some initial politeness out of the way, I had to ask: “Did I put on this yukata properly?”

She inspected me while murmuring thoughtfully in Japanese, then fixed my belt and smiled.

Dōmo Arigatō. (bow)

That night, she brought me tea and a wonderful dinner consisting of many small plates of traditional Japanese dishes—stuff like sashimi, soup cooking at the table, pickled vegetables, plenty of tofu and much more.

After dinner, she and another man moved the table from the middle of the room and, in a matter of 90 seconds, managed to pull out a futon and basically build my bed in the middle of the room where there was a table less than 2 minutes ago. Then, in the morning, with the same Japanese efficiency, the bed disappeared, the table was back in its original place, and tea and breakfast were waiting for me.

The thing you need to understand about this old lady is that her speech pattern, intonation and mannerisms were utterly intoxicating. It felt like being in the presence of a Zen master. She spoke slowly and added these little intonations at the end of most sentences as if she was sharing some divine wisdom when, in fact, she was mainly talking about the food or the room.

I vividly perceived her as a female Japanese Yoda.

The following morning, as I was finishing my tea, she walked in, sat on the floor next to me and started asking me polite questions. Where I was from, how long I’ve been on the road, where I was going, stuff like that.

Then she uttered another question into the phone. I knew right away from the intonation, the look in her eyes, and her warm smile that it was a big one. It felt like it carried a lot of weight.

The 2 seconds it took for the translation felt like an eternity.

“Isn’t it lonely travelling on your own?”

Ding, ding, ding…female Yoda with the bullseye.

Frankly, I was taken aback. I started grinning and shaking my head in an attempt to hide the fact that I struggled to muster any words. But she knew. She knew she had hit the pinata right in the face. At this point, we were communicating with eyes and two long smiles.

My response was something like: “Sometimes in life, if you want to see and do many things, you might have to go about it alone the first time and then bring some of your closest people. And sometimes, if you are feeling lost, you just need some space away from everything and everyone you know to figure things out. Yes, it can be lonely, but hopefully, you grow, learn something new and return a more balanced and mature human being.”

That whole interaction probably lasted less than a minute but left me very reflective for most of the day, and I’ve been thinking about it regularly ever since.

Then, very politely and graciously, she asked me how I’d like to pay…cash or card?

As I said, the Japanese do want to make money but are unwilling to sacrifice everything for it.

I paid by card.

—

We need to talk about the Japanese hot springs or onsen.

That night, after dinner, I put on a robe and went down to the private onsen in the ryokan, where I spent 1 hour in complete silence in a small pool of natural hot water. It was exactly what I needed to relax before a stunning 9-hours of sleep to the sound of the river.

And while this was a pleasant experience, it really couldn’t compare to what Hakone had in store for me the next day.

I checked out of the hotel, left my bag in a locker at the train station, and somehow figured out which bus I needed to take to the day spa. It was pouring rain, which, combined with the fact that it was a Monday, gave me a lot of hope about the tourist levels at the day spa—if there are a few things that discourage tourists from doing anything exciting, ‘Monday’ and ‘rain’ are definitely up the list.

I jumped through a few more Japanese language hoops at the day spa and was now in the male area naked, surrounded by more than 50 men, many of them Japanese. Women had their separate area, and the two didn’t mix because everyone had to be naked.

The hot springs were outdoors in the garden—larger ones on the ground and smaller ones carved into the rocks as separate levels. The water in each pool was different in warmth, from the cold pool to what felt like a boiling pot of water in one of the smaller ones.

Most pools were scantly covered by different types of trees, and the rain was dropping through the leaves and onto your head as if purposefully engineered to cool you off.

The scene could have easily been a Renaissance painting. “Naked men of different races bathe in nature in complete silence to the sound of the rain and the river”.

A yurt was next to the pools—the most intense steam room I’ve ever experienced. Less than ten minutes in were all you needed to make your knees wobble.

So, in this surreal environment, I proceeded with the following agenda:

• Medium hot pool (10 mins)

• Cold pool (3 mins)

• Very hot pool (10 mins)

• Cold pool (3 mins)

• Steam room (10 mins)

• Cold pool (3 mins)

• In the rain (until I regained consciousness)

You know that tiny button on most electronic devices, which you need to hold for more than 3 seconds using a tiny pin to reset the device to factory settings?

Well, two and a half hours in that environment and several cycles of the above routine felt exactly like that. My body and mind had completely let go. To an outside observer, I would have appeared alive and present, both physically and mentally. But trust me, neither my body nor my mind were there. They were somewhere in the clouds in complete and utter bliss.

Other visitors seemed to be in a similar state of nirvana. In another memorable scene, I sat next to a guy in the chillout area when his female partner showed up, having just finished her time at the spa. They kissed, embraced each other, and just sat silently for a bit more. There was no need to say or do anything other than enjoy the moment together.

I’m convinced that most relationships would benefit from some level of separation, aside from individual hobbies and interests, which are a must. Sharing a wonderful experience while not going through it tied at the hip can be so powerful.

It can be as easy as sitting on the balcony, drinking cocktails, listening to music, reading books, or working on your laptops with your feet stretched forward, gently touching. You are in it together but also going through it on your own. You get to miss each other, and after making some progress or learning something new, you spend some active time together and talk about it.

Passive time. Active time. The perfect yin and yang.

Seven thousand words later, I still feel there is a lot unsaid. Ultimately, the way I can summarize my experience is “comfortably uncomfortable on a different planet”.

Visiting Japan is like being a background character in a foreign film. You don't know what it is about or what anyone is saying, yet you feel comfortable and are just happy to be involved.

Being a Westerner in Japan can be a perverse and counterintuitive experience. Whether it’s music, fashion, or lifestyle, the Japanese are utterly obsessed with America and the West. Most people will treat you nicely and with respect, even admiration. You will likely never be in danger or truly lost, and overall, people are extremely helpful. And yet, despite all that, there is this feeling that you don’t belong there, you don’t get the culture, and you will never be welcomed or be able to fit in truly.

But that shouldn’t stop you. On the contrary, that’s part of the deal.

If you want to get out of your comfort zone, go to Japan. Everything, from buying a beer from 7-Eleven to expressing your feelings using a translation app, requires just a bit more effort and resolve. And yet, you are doing it in the mildest of environments, so there is no risk of you failing.

If you want to get inspired by patience, craftsmanship, and attention to detail, go to Japan. Whether it’s food, coffee, cocktails, porcelain, hardware, or simply the ice in your drink, there is a certain way they do things, and anything less than that is not acceptable, even if it means more money.

And, of course, if you are looking to slow down, instil some stillness into your life, and hit that “factory reset” button, go to the mountains of Japan.

Here are a few additional goodies for inspiration:

• A great thread with stunning photos from different parts of the country.

• Stunning IG profile with photography from around the country.

• The new incarnation of Shogun is an absolute masterpiece. While you are at it, also watch Perfect Days and Lost In Translation.

• And if you really want to geek out to culture and customs, then ‘Making Common Sense Of Japan’ might be of interest. Also, Patrick McKenzie’s blog has a lot on his time in Japan. You should start with Doing Business In Japan.

That’s all I have.

G.

P.S. In Sydney, following my week in Japan, my friend caught me several times bowing when I said thank you to waiters or bartenders. Quite comical…