Japan: Slippers, shifting planes, flashlights, and resounding resilience.
Traveling in Japan is a very sensual journey. The country’s quiet, cleanliness, and calm heightened our olfactory and auditory experiences. Both the built and natural environments delighted my eyes. The food made my tongue smile with each taste sensation. The people we met touched my heart with their generosity, attention to detail, and desire to connect. To make this come alive, let’s start by talking about foot coverings.
Slippers. They mark the transition from public to private spaces. They protect the inside areas from dirt, they set shoe-bound feet free, and they confuse the heck out of foreigners.
One ryokan (traditional guest house) I stayed in had an outdoor deck between our room’s living and sleeping areas. Shoes off at the main door. Indoor slippers on to enter the den. Outdoor slippers to walk three feet to the door of the slumbering section, which required a different pair of indoor slippers to enter. Need to pee? Switch out the indoor slippers for the toilet pair. Don’t dare to wear the toilet shoes beyond the toilet room, which might not include a sink. Cleaning your hands means shifting to the indoor slippers and going to the washroom. Then returning to the living room necessitates putting on the outdoor slippers, then changing into the indoor slippers that ideally you left pointing to the exit so that you can depart gracefully.
No way I could learn the language during the 2.5 weeks I was traveling, but mastering the art of slipping into the right slippers became one of my holy grails, That, and eating every bit of food placed before me—but more on that later.
The slippers revealed an impressive Japanese approach to hygiene, comfort, communal living, and trust. You share slippers. There’s often rows of soft open-toed options welcoming you at the door. You have no doubt your shoes will be waiting for you when you go to retrieve them. And once you get into the habit of taking off your street shoes, it's hard to imagine how we ever allow anyone to track dirt into our home.
I saw echoes of slipper life in many places. Like the onsens-or Japanese baths. Often fed by the thermal springs bubbling beneath this volcanic island, onsens are steaming hot, located in town centers, hotels, and ryokans. I made a point of soaking whenever I could. Some onsens are designed like elegant spas, some seemed like boiling in an outdoor barrel with strangers. Of course there’s a ritual to entering. You leave your shoes in a locker, grab a pair of shared rubber slippers, strip, wash yourself with a bucket that’s tucked beneath the low plastic stool, and then slide into the hot water. You are not cleaning in the thermal spring, you did that already, you’re infusing your body with the earth’s energy. Although men and women are separated, you’re pretending it isn’t weird that you’re naked! I suppressed the giggles when I saw that the locals consider their heads to be the most convenient place to store their towel. Comfort. Communal. In a country with deep bows and boundless indicators of respect, there’s a sense of abandon at the onsens that captures the country’s intoxicating contradictions.
Did I say intoxicating? That’s not the reason I balanced my trips to onsens with visits to bars. They’re all part of my cultural explorations. Watching the same-suited “salary men” crisscross the crowded streets, I wondered, what happens after hours? The urban areas have huge populations and very tiny bars. The drinking establishments I sought out had no more than ten seats. Before the first drink was served, I had made at least two new friends. Even the most self-contained looking patron, with their eyes cast down, struck up a conversation once the gaijin walked in. “Where are you from? Manhattan? Wow. Big City.”
Bars are tucked away in the basements or the top floors of office buildings. They have a sign…or not. The bartender inquires as to your preferred flavor profile and voila, a perfectly prepared drink appears. I found this very amusing.
There’s no cocktail list at the bar, but the ubiquitous Toto electric toilets have an extensive menu of personal hygiene options.
Toilets! I could write a whole blog about the cleanliness of the toilets. There were days where I went to the subway not to travel but to use the public restroom. That’s so very not NYC. Japan is always a step ahead, anticipating your needs and offering public places to satisfy them. Most toilet stalls even have a seat to safely secure your toddler while you take a seat of your own. And, as we are talking about drinking and toilets, it’s time to discuss the shifting planes.
Shifting planes. Nope, that’s not changing planes at Narita airport. I’m talking about differing floor levels. Japanese architecture is stunning, space efficient, and filled with surprises. A change in levels at the entrance signals it’s time to take off your shoes. The tatami-matted living room may require a step down. The bedroom or bathroom floor might be higher or lower than the hall. For the unaccustomed, or if you’re transversing the space in the dark, it pays to remember that the path between two of these spaces may require navigating unexpected changes in height (negotiated in slippers that may not fit).
In addition to up and down, there’s side to side. Several times I arrived at a traditional hotel only to be greeted by a small box of a room. But then… slide this screen, and there’s a bedroom. Slide that screen and it’s a living space. Another screen moved to the side, and yet another room appears. It’s like unwrapping gift paper, what will you find? Sometimes the outside is now inside as the rooms are arranged around a courtyard. How did they get so many rooms in there? I guess when doors don’t swing open into a space you get…more space. The ryokans’ footprints from the outside often appeared to be the size of a small car.
For additional intrigue, many of the restaurants as well as small hotels have curtains floating over their entrance. No peeking! My usual sleuthing skills were neutralized when looking for places to pop in for a meal. The view into ground floor establishments was obscured by flopping fabric, and besides, great dining experiences could be found below street level. Or on the fourth or ninth floor. Hotels sometimes sat atop office buildings, with lobbies starting around the 34th floor. Museum entrances can be high above a shopping center. Google maps only do so well. Look up. Look down. You have to have a sense of adventure—and humor. And in my case, a willingness to play dumb and walk out if the setting isn’t what I expected.
The limits of my brainpower were on full display many times during this trip. For example:
Remember I said ryokans may have sliding doors to the outside that are in the middle of your “inside.” Here’s a pro tip—close those doors at night or you’ll freeze during your journey across the “planes.”
Here’s another—it’s actually possible to miss the grand staircase, an 11-story outdoor escalator, at the Kyoto train station. And trust me, you want to find it, because the 10th floor is a Ramen highway with shop after shop serving the best noodles. You order from a machine in the hall and the bowl is delivered piping hot to your table.
Or how about this? At Kenrokuen Garden (兼六園), the Kanazawa Palace garden, I saw signs on the benches that read, “Beware of Kites.” How quaint. I love the image of kids racing through the fields, strings in hand. Why be on guard? But no! Turns out Kites are birds of prey that dive bomb your bench and steal your snacks.
Okay. What I don’t know about birds and moving staircases could be made up by my newly acquired knowledge about sake making. Who doesn’t visit a sake distillery while in Japan? And as it turns out, during a visit to the Noto Peninsula, I also visited a deep-sea water factory. I learned about the importance of water quality in sake production and was eager to impress Yoram Ofer, the owner of a renowned sake bar in Kyoto. Surrounded by sake bottles in his eight-person bar, Yoram asked what tastes I like in spirits and offered up the sake that emulated the flavor. I like single malts from Islay. He gave me a smokey sake. Sampling the unique rice-based drinks, I said, “it’s about the water!” With piercing eyes he said, “the water and about a thousand other variables.”
Undeterred, I showed off my newly acquired rice knowledge, having visited the Niigata Region, which is known for, and quite proud of, its rice. Chef Jacob Kear at Lurra in Kyoto shared the birth history of each ingredient as we ate around the counter of his ten-person restaurant. I “smartly” said, “you must use Niigata rice.” He said, “every prefecture believes their rice is the best. There’s a thousand ways to source and prepare rice.”
I can believe that. While out in the countryside we stopped at gas stations to check out the rice polishing machines. In goes your brown rice and, depending on the setting you chose, it’s polished to different degrees of white. Who knew that white rice was laundered brown rice?
Fortunately, the Japanese are very patient people. I learned a lot about food production and consumption. The eel maker explained how the first bite is eaten just off the grill; the second you dip in soy sauce and sprinkle seasoning; and the third is however you want it! In Osaka’s Kuromon Ichiba Market (黒門市場), a sprawling indoor food mall, the uni sculptor (how else to explain the process of separating each sea urchin section from its shell and then organizing it into a gentle tower) through hand motions showed me: first bite is on its own, then with soy, the third is wrapped in seaweed, and then you are in such uni bliss you can eat the rest however you want.
Amidst the market frenzy, there’s always moments of intimacy. Each stall offers an incredible delicacy (BBQ’d giant oyster, wagu sashimi, gargantuan crab leg). You don’t walk while you eat. You “dine” at the tiny four-chaired table in front of the vendor which miraculously always has a seat—for the five minutes it takes to wolf down the food. Chop sticks appear along with the ubiquitous plastic wrapped wet towel. Yet again, courteous, clean, and delicious.
The people we encountered were not only patient, but they were also great communicators. I can’t count the number of fun conversations I had with folks I met during my trip. Taxi drivers, wait staff, bartenders, and fellow diners. We didn’t share a common language, but translation apps were the gateway to connection. I said I tried a local treat - gold leaf ice cream and bam, and out comes a picture of them eating the same delicacy. I told them I was going to the Expo in Osaka, and they showed me pictures of their siblings or nieces who already went. I asked about the best octopus balls in Dotonbori and the bartender put the address in Japanese into his Google maps, I took a photo of his phone and then copied and pasted the address into my Google maps, which translated it and showed me the way. I’ll save you a few steps: the best takoyaki (たこ焼き) is at あっちち本舗 道頓堀店.
And so, it went. Technology helped us talk. I learned about the New Zealand/ Japan conduit. One college student went and wants to emigrate. “New Zealand is also an island culture but a much more outgoing one.” Another new acquaintance shared that he studied in New Zealand and was inspired to become a tour guide in his own country—he was so proud of Japan.
Flashlights. People not only shared dining tips and family photos. I spent five days on the Noto Peninsula on the western coast of Honshu where on New Year’s Day 2024, at 4:10 PM an earthquake releasing energy estimated to be eight times greater than the 1995 Kobe quake incited massive destruction. We visited Hukai, Fukuura, Wajima, Noto-cho, Nanao, and Wakura Onsen.
We met sake and shoyu (soy sauce) brewers, hotel managers, deep sea squid fishermen, and candle makers. We visited a plant that processes deep sea water to create nutrient rich drinking water and crystallized salts (a lifeline for the local community when the earthquake ruptured waterlines for weeks). They shared their stories. The sky was clear, families were relaxing and celebrating when the first (milder) rumble came. Many started to run to their evacuation sites and then crack—the next tectonic shift registered at a 7.6 magnitude. Minutes later came a tsunami and to add to the destruction, fires broke out. Lives, homes, and livelihoods were lost.
We had dinner with a couple who run a fine lacquerware business. The top floor of their factory smashed into the first. Fortunately, it was a holiday, and no one was there. They are rebuilding their lives and their centuries-old family business. Like many artisans practicing ancient crafts, they lost their historic tools. The new generation has a fascination with making swords because of anime and video games. Painstakingly produce the fine array of brushes? Forget about it.
We walked through the coastal towns and tried to imagine the vibrancy of 15 months ago. Gazing towards the sea, the water and mountains looked like a fine Japanese painting. What a place to vacation. Turn toward the towns and people are living in temporary homes and running pop-up shops in container cars.
Why go? To show support, to experience the creativity and resiliency firsthand. To meet the chefs and architects partnering to make the best food amidst the debris. Truly my top two meals were at Somamichi (食堂 海辺の杣径)and Kuwagumi, both in in Waijima.
As we checked into our accommodations each night we were reminded to note where the flashlight was located—check the evacuation route. I took this seriously. I made sure the mobile torch was in easy reach each evening. Verdant mountains, relentless ragged seashore, gorgeous gardens. The Japanese endeavor to live in harmony with nature, recognizing that the ground could thunder and gobble you up or the violent sea could swallow you whole. Or… a bomb could evaporate your community.
Resilience. Our visit to the blistering city of Hiroshima scorched our soul. The Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum (広島平和記念資 ) doesn’t hold back. The images are haunting and our human ability to obliterate each other was on full display. So was the possibility to recognize both agony and peace in a shared setting. The primary site in the Hiroshima Peace Park has a gong. First you look in the mirror on one side of the bell to center yourself. Then bow. Then you make a deeply resonate sound as you send the swinging mallet into an atomic symbol on the other side of the bell. Knock out destruction.
The park promotes peace. “Here,” says the guide, is a flame that “will extinguish when we no longer have nuclear arms,” Sadly, he adds, “We no longer think it’s in our near future.” Hiroshima proclaims never to forget. As well as we are moving on. Hiroshima is once again a vibrant port city. Full of life and the hub of Mazda manufacturing. Resiliency! The post-quake Noto Peninsula and Hiroshima reveal the power of the human spirit.
We learned of an elder generation that spits at the mention of America. We understood. We also heard about how post war the Americans taught English and helped rebuild. Americans introduced the celebrated flour used to make Okonomiyaki (お好み焼き), a very popular Japanese pancake piled high with shredded cabbage and noodles, cooked on a griddle, and topped with a sweet-savory sauce, mayonnaise, bonito flakes, and seaweed powder. We ate it as the locals do, with a spatula while visiting the nearby serene island of Miyajima.
Violator. Liberator. Partner? America currently has more military bases in Japan than anywhere else in the world (outside of America itself). How to make sense of the U.S. in Japan. It’s one of the many contradictions that can consume your analysis if you don’t relax into the world of “ands.”
Here are a few additional paradoxes worth noting:
Food is presented with precision, a beautiful container for each small bite. And yet, there is no particular order to how it is to be consumed.
The Japanese culture has a rich history of tea and its attendant ceremonies, and yet, there are vending machines replete with every possible combo of iced and hot coffee on almost every corner.
Rice patties share fields with solar panels.
The seemingly quaint soy factory we stumbled into in Onomachi has a web site and extensive reach.
The enormous Sumo wrestlers we watched practice were as soulful and joyful as they were flexible and strong.
The streets and trains are so clean, yet trash cans can seldom be found.
There’s all sorts of active construction but no noise.
When visiting Saihōji (Kokedera), the Moss Temple, you are asked to copy a sutra before entering. Take a calligraphy pen and trace the lines. Calm your mind. There are instructions on how to offer your writing as a prayer, and it includes a QR code to follow the temple’s Instagram.
People ride bicycles in both directions… on the sidewalk.
Ryokans serve matcha ice cream for dessert at breakfast and fruit for dessert at lunch.
Malga Gelato, located in Noto-cho, Ishikawa Prefecture, won the competition for the best gelato in the world. And I agree.
Speaking of food. I went to the snow country to see outdoor art installations as part of the Echigo-Tsumari initiative. We stayed at an art hotel in Otake (an industrial zone outside of Hiroshima) and of course throughout my travels, I visited the requisite shrines. And yet most of my photos are of food. There are practical displays at the market with oversized radishes, squid, and the freshest sushi.
Stunningly prepared omakase, kaiseki, tempura and robata (grilled food). You can get sushi from a rotating conveyer belt, or from an “automatic” restaurant where you order from an iPad and a moving track brings the food directly to your table. There is a Japanese expression—Kuchisabishii: my stomach is full, but my mouth is lonely—which to me translated into, “I want to try everything I see!” In Japan, food is an art. It’s also presented as a gift. Bento boxes wrapped in paper, nesting bowls emerging from an orb—so many surprise presents.
Did I say gifts? Over the course of our travels, local artisans and proud factory owners gave us deep sea salt, fresh soy sauce, lemon butter, chop sticks with super sharp piercers, good luck signs, and origami cranes. I was lucky enough to be in Japan on my birthday where I was spontaneously given a diffuser (at the ryokan) a sashimi t-shirt (by a taxi driver), and flowers and a framed picture of me receiving the flowers (by the waiter). It’s not a tipping culture. I brought along and gave out Big Apple/NYC magnets that I wrapped in colorful net bags. I’m pretty sure I came out ahead.
Japan: An ancient culture honoring history and nature was on the cutting edge of hospitality and design. Generous. Welcoming. Patient. Delicious. I can’t wait to go back.