Visit Japan With Open Eyes and an Open Heart

Arashiyama, Kyoto

I recently returned from a week-long journey through Japan, traveling from Tokyo to Osaka with a group of bright, eager high school students. We visited all the “Greatest Hits” — Asakusa, the Arashiyama Bamboo Forest, bustling Shibuya, and serene shrines tucked between modernity. But as I made my way through these places I had once known so intimately, I felt something stirring in me — a gentle ache for the Japan I first encountered many years ago. A Japan that felt mysterious, reverent, and deeply rooted in its spiritual identity.

That first trip was in 2003, when my husband and I brought our infant son to visit his family in Mito, Ibaraki. Everything was unfamiliar — the language, the toilets, the doors that opened the “wrong” way. I felt like I had stepped into a beautifully unfamiliar world. And yet, beneath the differences, I noticed something extraordinary: a society woven with kindness, order, and deep consideration for others.

What captivated me then — and still does today — is not just Japan’s outward beauty, but its inner grace. A kind of spiritual stillness. A collective consciousness. In the middle of crowded subways, people remained peaceful. On busy sidewalks, there was no shouting or pushing. Alcohol vending machines lined the streets, yet you didn’t see public drunkenness. There was, and is, something profoundly different about the way people coexist here. I came to believe that Japan wasn't just a country to visit — it was a way of life to learn from.

That’s why this recent trip left me unsettled. So many travelers seemed to be here not to engage with the culture, but to consume it. Students on our bus tuned out history lessons to scroll through phones. Popular tourist sites felt overwhelmed — not just by crowds, but by noise, trash, and a certain disconnection. I saw overflowing garbage cans at Meiji Shrine, dirty bathrooms in places once pristine, and a general lack of awareness from visitors who may not have known, or didn’t think to ask: What are the values of the culture I’m stepping into?

It’s easy to fall in love with Japan’s aesthetics — the cherry blossoms, the sushi, the fashion, the technology, the anime. But Japan is so much more than a place to shop and take selfies. It is a living, breathing culture shaped by centuries of tradition. A place where silence is sacred. Where harmony is honored. Where your presence in a space carries responsibility — to keep it clean, to move gently, to be aware of others.

My love for Japan began long before I ever visited, in the sixth grade, with a Japanese-American teacher named Mrs. Oda. She was graceful, wise, and kind — the embodiment of quiet strength. She taught me how to speak with purpose, how to listen with heart. Later, I met my husband, James — a second-generation Japanese-American whose family history reached back to a famous shogunate. In contrast, my own Mexican-American roots were a bit of a patchwork, hard to trace. His family's legacy inspired me to study, to seek understanding, to walk a path of curiosity and cultural humility.

And that’s what I hope for you, dear reader. I don’t want to shame anyone for wanting to visit Japan — quite the opposite. I want you to come. I want you to marvel at the temples, to eat the ramen, to lose yourself in the lantern-lit streets of Kyoto. But more than anything, I want you to see Japan — not just through your phone, but with your heart. I want you to observe the small details: how people queue patiently, how they bow to greet and thank, how they carry their own trash, and clean up without being asked.

Before you come, take time to learn — even a little. How to behave on a train. How to enter a shrine. Why it matters to whisper in sacred spaces. Why no one eats while walking. These aren’t rules meant to restrict you — they are gestures of respect. They are quiet ways of saying, I see you. I honor your way.

I understand that not everyone knows these things — I didn’t at first either. But once you do, you begin to understand that Japan doesn’t ask visitors to be perfect — just present. Just thoughtful. Just a little bit humble.

So, if you’re thinking of visiting Japan, I invite you — from the bottom of my heart — to do so not only as a tourist, but as a student. Come with reverence. Come with wonder. Come ready to absorb, not to interrupt.

Let Japan change you — and carry that change home.