Sayonara, Japan! Final Trip Entry

Well, folks, this is it, the last entry for our Japanese adventure. It feels bittersweet. Apologies for skipping yesterday’s blog, but we needed a recharge day. The kind of day where you sleep in, overthink your breakfast choices, and spend a good amount of time soaking in hot water. You know, the classics.

We started our lazy day with our final Japanese-style breakfast. Now, I’ve got to confess, I feel a little guilty admitting this, but… we’re just not fans. It’s not you, Japan; it’s us. The breakfasts are masterfully complex, with flavors dancing between pickles, raw egg, and fish, but our American taste buds were not ready for that morning journey. Emily and I looked at each other over bowls of mystery pickles and knew we’d be dreaming of pancakes and bacon for a while.

The day quickly took a turn for the better when I checked off another major highlight of this trip: getting a Japanese haircut. I still remember my first one from a middle school trip, an experience so magical that it set the gold standard for all haircuts that followed. And let me tell you, this one did not disappoint.

At a little hole-in-the-wall shop with an ancient barber plopped into the chair.  It was an hour and a half of sheer craftsmanship. The precision! The attention to detail and precision were immaculate. He even used a straight razor. I walked out feeling like a new man. Not to mention the scalp massage, which was so relaxing that I might’ve drooled a little. It’s fine; they were professionals.

With my fresh new ‘do?, we lazed around the room a bit before heading out for sushi lunch. There’s no such thing as too much sushi, by the way, I checked. Then we braved the steep city blocks to visit a tranquil Japanese garden. Beautifully manicured, peaceful, and perfectly balanced, it felt like stepping into a postcard.

The rest of the day was spent embracing the ultimate luxury: the Japanese baths. The hotel boasted some truly blissful hot springs, and they weren’t kidding. Gender-separated meant Emily and I had to take turns watching Joni, but it was well worth it. Imagine sitting on a little stool, scrubbing yourself down next to a row of other naked bathers, then soaking in a turquoise pool smelling faintly of sulfur. It was the most relaxing communal bathing experience one could imagine. Bonus: my skin felt ridiculously soft afterward.

Dinner was an attempt at “pizza” at a nearby hostel. And I do mean “attempt.” But there was something endearing about it, almost like pizza, but just different enough to remind us we were still far from home. Over slices of whatever it was, Emily and I reminisced about our hostel-hopping days. Back then, we would’ve been thrilled just to eat something that wasn’t noodles from a convenience store. We’ve come a long way, yet there we were, sitting in a fancy hotel, laughing about what constitutes pizza in Japan.

The night ended perfectly. We soaked one last time in our little hot springs tub on the deck, the steam swirling around us under the night sky. Then we crashed early, exhausted in the best possible way, with Joni snuggled between us.

Today we leave for the states. Wish us luck in the 10 hour voyage…

Reflecting on this whole trip, it’s hard not to feel overwhelmed by the sheer adventure of it all. From bustling cities to serene temples, from culinary explorations to language blunders, it’s been one exhilarating ride. We traveled for the first time as a family, and made unforgettable memories.

So, sayonara, Japan. Thanks for the memories, the experiences, and the softest skin of my life. Until next time, wherever that may be. And in to the next adventure. 

Bullet Trains, Black Eggs, and Pirate Ships: A Day in Hakone

Sorry for not blogging yesterday, but it was a travel day with only a few interesting points, mostly involving me questioning my life choices in a train station. It was our last day in Kyoto, and we were scheduled to take the bullet train to Hakone. Simple enough, right? We left with ample time, feeling confident, maybe even a little smug. But that confidence evaporated the moment we tried to figure out which train and track to go to. You’d think they’d make it easy. They did not. 

We found ourselves flustered and slightly anxious as we realized we were on the wrong train on the wrong track. A few friendly people pointed this out, probably noticing the wild, lost look in our eyes, so we jumped off before it departed. Frantic because our departure was imminent, we realized our train was on the other side, which meant going down one elevator and up another. Simple, right? Ha! We descended, only to find a painfully long line at the other elevator. I swear, time moves slower when you’re panicking in a queue.

When the doors finally opened, we sprinted out like contestants on a game show, diving into what we thought was the right train. As we made our way through the cars, a steward hastily informed me again, that we were on the wrong train. But at this point, Emily was two cars ahead, and I was lumbering behind with the bags. By sheer luck, both sets of doors opened, and I saw her two cars up. Without thinking, I shouted, “Get off the train!!” We both leaped out just as the doors closed and the train sped away.

We stood on the platform, dejected and sweaty, fully convinced we’d missed our train. After all, the average delay in Japan’s railway system is a mere 27 seconds, and we were way past our departure time. Just as we were about to sulk away in defeat, I glanced at the board one last time and saw our train in red. I assumed that meant we missed it, but no, the train was delayed by five minutes due to snow! We couldn’t believe our luck. When the next train pulled up, it was ours. We practically cried tears of joy.

The rest of the ride was uneventful, aside from catching a fleeting, cloud-shrouded glimpse of Mt. Fuji. We arrived at our hotel, which was swanky in the most traditional Japanese way possible. Our room was all thin partitions, floor futons and tatami mats, and we had to remove our shoes before stepping inside.  There was even a hot springs tub on our balcony. We were provided home-style kimonos to wear around the hotel, which felt both elegant and a little like being in fancy pajamas. The lobby bar had hot springs water to soak your feet in while enjoying a cocktail. I don’t know why this isn’t a global trend. It was glorious. 

Dinner was an 11-course kaiseki meal, which was beautifully presented but, honestly, not our thing. We’d had a few similar meals earlier in our trip and had slowly come to realize that tiny dishes of delicate mystery ingredients weren’t our jam (the slimy textures never seem to grow on us). But the ambiance was serene, and we were too relaxed to care. 

The next day, we slept in. There’s something incredibly peaceful about the whole Japanese-style vibe. Even Joni slept in, which felt like a small miracle. We had our first authentic Japanese breakfast, which was… interesting. The textures and strong flavors were a lot for the morning. I’m just going to say it: I missed toast.

We planned to take it easy and do one or two activities, but we learned that you can basically do all of Hakone’s attractions in one day. So we did.  We started with a cable car that took us up one kilometer to meet a gondola, which carried us up and over the lip of a volcano and then across its mouth. No lava, but plenty of sulfur gas. It smelled like someone had eaten too many black eggs. 

At the top, we were rewarded with an epic view of Mt. Fuji without a single cloud in sight. Apparently, this only happens about 80 days a year, so we felt pretty lucky.  We even tried the famous black eggs cooked in the hot springs. They’re supposed to add seven years to your life, so I ate two just in case.

The adventure continued with another gondola ride down to Lake Ashi, where we boarded a pirate ship.  Yes, a pirate ship. I’m not sure why Japan decided pirates were necessary for this scenic cruise, but who am I to question them? We sailed across the lake, admiring water shrines and more stunning views of Mt. Fuji. It was so picturesque, I half-expected to see a dragon fly by. 

For lunch, we stumbled upon this tiny two-table-restaurant run by an ancient Japanese woman who immediately fell in love with Joni.  She doted on her the entire time, bringing us more food than we could eat. Full and happy, we visited the sacred water shrine before heading back to the hotel, thoroughly exhausted. 

That evening, we soaked our feet in the hot springs bar, enjoying a few drinks. Joni crashed early, so Emily and I snuck out to our balcony hot tub. We sat under the stars, chatting about life, Joni, and all the adventures we’d had. It was perfect.

Only one more day in Japan before heading back home. I’m not ready to leave the hot springs life just yet.

Early Mornings and Bowing Deer: A Day at Todaiji Temple

Our last day in Kyoto began not with the quiet reverence of our typical traditional Japanese morning but with the jarring beeps of an alarm clock that no one wanted to hear. Emily, our fearless leader and strategist, had decreed the night before that we would rise at dawn to beat the holiday crowds at Todaiji Temple in Nara. This decision was met with groggy protests and grumbles, but Emily remained resolute, armed with the foreknowledge that history waits for no one, not even those who long for five more minutes of sleep.

After a night of verbal dueling with our travel company, we decided to take destiny into our own hands. We were adventurers, rebels even, boldly forging our own path… or at the very least, tourists who had reached the end of their patience with customer service (after Emily’s conversation I’m sure they were rethinking their life choices too). With sleep still clinging to our eyes, we dragged ourselves out of the hotel and headed toward Nara.

An unplanned coffee stop just outside the park proved to be a divine intervention. With caffeine restoring our life force, we met Kevin, our guide. Kevin was no ordinary guide. He was like the Gandalf of Nara, the Professor Dumbledore of historical facts, the Doctor Who of temple tours (at least compared to our previous guides).

It felt like stepping into an enchanted forest, untouched by time. The air was thick with the promise of adventure. We found ourselves surrounded by thousands of deer. They moved without a care in the world. Unafraid of people, cars, fences, or strollers they pranced everywhere. 

Vendors sold enchanted wafers,okay, they were just deer crackers, but they held a mystical power over the deer. In exchange for these treats, the deer would bow, lowering their heads in a gesture of reverence. As if we were visiting royalty, they bowed before us, their eyes wide and pleading. It was charming, almost poetic, until Emily, both ironically and accidentally started commanding them to “sit” as they slowly overwhelmed her. 

The deer looked at her, clearly unimpressed. They were creatures of ancient ritual, masters of the bow, not trained circus animals. As Emily’s pleas grew more insistent, the deer grew more impatient. They swarmed us, their soft muzzles nudging our sides, their tiny teeth nipping at our ribs. It was like being ambushed by fluffy, hooved ninjas. Forgoing all pretense we hastily distributed our crackers and retreated. 

Kevin, ever the wise guide, led us to Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples scattered throughout the park. There, we offered coins and whispered wishes, the air thick with the scent of incense and echoes of ancient prayers. The shrines seemed to hum with energy, as if the spirits of the past were listening. We strolled along paths lined with massive stone lanterns, their moss-covered surfaces seeming to guide us on a journey of spiritually and adventure.

Finally, we stood before the gate to Todaiji Temple. It loomed above us, the largest buddhist wooden gate in the world, guarded by colossal wooden statues that glared down at us with expressions fierce enough to scare away even the bravest of spirits. Kevin explained that it was built without nails, its wooden beams locked together like an ancient puzzle. 

We passed through the gate, and there it was, the massive pavilion housing the Great Buddha, the largest Buddha statue in all of Japan, seated majestically within the vast hall of Todaiji Temple. The statue radiated a calm power, its face serene, its presence overwhelming. Around it stood equally impressive guardian statues.

Nearby, one of the wooden columns had a small hole at its base. Kevin told us that legend has it anyone who can squeeze through the hole would be blessed with a healthy life. As if the portal to another realm, children lined up to wriggle through, giggling as they emerged on the other side. It looked small, impossibly small. I was certain I’d get stuck halfway through and spend eternity as a cautionary tale for future tourists. But then we had an idea: we would pass our infant daughter, Joni, through the hole.

Emily gingerly handed Joni to me on the other side. For a split second, Joni looked confused, her tiny face scrunching up as if she had just traveled through a wormhole. But then she smiled, wide and bright, and the surrounding crowd burst into applause. For a brief moment, it felt like she had been blessed by the spirits of the temple. Or maybe she just thought it was a fun game. Either way, Joni was now officially blessed for life, and we were minor legends in the eyes of the gathered onlookers as the only ones to get an infant through the hole. 

After hours of walking through this magical world, we bid Kevin farewell and made our way to a Michelin-starred udon noodle place he recommended. The noodles were exquisite. Joni, meanwhile, remained the perfect baby, content in her mother’s arms.

Our bellies full and spirits high, we returned to Kyoto. Seeking to end our adventure on a high note, we indulged in luxury massages at our hotel, allowing the magic of the day to sink into our bones. We spent the evening quietly planning our next city, already nostalgic for the day’s enchantments.

Not Our Best Day in Kyoto: The Great Guide No-Show and Other Adventures

Ah, Kyoto. The city of ancient temples, serene tea ceremonies, and… missing guides. Our day began with an awkwardly long wait, staring at our watches and the empty street where our ride was supposed to be. Again. For the staggering amount of $$$$$$ we forked over for this trip, you’d think punctuality would be included. We certainly did. And we let the travel agency know. Repeatedly. Throughout the day.

After a colorful exchange of excuses (“Traffic!” “Miscommunication!” “A butterfly flapped its wings in Brazil!”), our ride miraculously appeared, as if conjured by sheer force of passive-aggressive texts. Off we went to a formal Japanese tea ceremony, a cultural experience designed to calm the soul. We clearly needed it.

We arrived at a stunning 100+ year-old Japanese-style home, where we were greeted by Kya, our tea master for the day, and her assistant, who seemed to be even older than the house itself. Just as we were marveling at the beautiful tea room, the assistant shuffled over and, without preamble, took Joni from us. Just scooped her right up and began babysitting like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was adorable and Joni seemed to be enjoying herself, so we went with it.

Kya began to explain the history and tradition behind the formal Japanese tea ceremony. It’s a precise art, full of symbolism and grace. Every movement is deliberate, from the way the tea is scooped to the way the bowl is turned before drinking. Kya performed the ceremony flawlessly for me, moving with a kind of elegance that made me wonder if she was part geisha. Afterward, Emily and I took turns performing the ceremony for each other, fumbling our way through the intricate steps. It was peaceful, calming, and an exercise in patience. 

Meanwhile, Joni was having the time of her life with her new friend, who somehow managed to entertain her using only ancient Japanese magic (or, more likely, just a really gentle touch and decades of grandmotherly wisdom). Either way, we were grateful.

After the tea ceremony, we slogged to a delicious lunch of udon noodles that nearly made up for the morning’s debacle. Then we strolled along the Philosopher’s Path, a picturesque walkway lined with quaint antique stores and little shops. Emily, naturally, had to inspect each one. I watched Joni while she browsed, hoping to absorb some of that Zen-like calm the path was supposed to inspire.

Our next stop was Sanjūsangendō Temple, a magnificent hall filled with 1,001 life-sized statues of Kannon, the goddess of mercy. Each statue was intricately carved with incredible detail, making the entire room look like a golden army frozen in time. The temple itself was massive, the longest wooden structure in Japan. It was both awe-inspiring and slightly intimidating, mostly because I was certain Joni would pick this moment to wail and disrupt the centuries-old serenity. Fortunately, she stayed quiet, clearly in awe of the statues (or just really tired). (We weren’t allowed to take pictures so I stole these from the internet)

We were feeling good… until we remembered we were still battling the travel agency. They had decided to move our trip to Nara to a weekend, which also happened to be a holiday. When we asked to change it, they politely refused. This news arrived just as our blood sugar levels hit rock bottom, leading to a trifecta of hangry parents and a very tired baby. The day ended with a sobbing Joni and our reluctant resort to the cry-yourself-to-sleep method. It took 20 excruciating minutes, but it worked. We both felt like the worst parents ever.

Tomorrow, we tackle Nara on our own. No travel company. No itinerary changes. Just us, some deer, and hopefully a better day.

A day of rest, head colds, and flower arrangements

Today I woke up with a head cold and all I could think about was trying not to get Joni sick. That being said today was a day of rest so it’s a short blog. Emily had a class in flower arranging called ikebana. She actually wrote the following: 

Now an interlude by Emily! Nick knew I would love an Ikebana class (Japanese flower arranging) so he agreed to babysit so I could go!

I was picked up by a friendly woman from Osaka and we chatted to pass the time on the 20 min taxi ride. We showed up in a sleepy neighborhood of Kyoto. A cute older Japanese lady came to greet us. She didn’t speak any English, so my guide acted as a translator. She led us up a staired walk to her traditional Japanese house. After slipping off my shoes at the front door, I was led down a hall complete with sliding shoji screens tatami mat floors to the floor arranging room. She taught me the fundamentals — start with the branches in an odd number, then the flowers, and then the leaves. There was importance of having some upright and others leaning front and back. She showed me how to do it the first time, then removed all the flowers and had me do it on my own. At the end, she would adjust a few to positions that were more “active.” She was very pleased with my arrangements, and said I should continue to practice when I came home! The guide said she was very happy, so she offered us some green tea in her traditional parlor. We chatted about her life and her house/ garden. She has been doing flower arranging for 50 years! After this, the taxi came to pick us up. The old woman came all the way down to the car and bowed until we drove away. Time to go back to my husband and baby!

Sounds like Emily had a blast. I on the other rested with Joni all day. We did visit a spectacular tea house in that afternoon and sampled Warabimochi (see picture). It is a traditional Japanese dessert made from bracken starch, giving it a soft, jelly-like texture. Ours had edible flowers beautifully encased within each. It is typically coated in kinako, a roasted soybean flour, and served with a drizzle of kuromitsu, a dark sugar syrup.

After that the day was chill. Sorry for the short blog but still feeling under the weather.