Japan, 2025.

The Future Is Here — and I’m Still in Line

The word hype is really hyped nowadays.
And if there’s one place that truly lives up to the hype, it’s Japan. It’s at the top of almost every traveler’s wish list.

When Marcelo suggested Japan as our next destination, I agreed. I was already curious to see what all the buzz was about.

Japan’s reputation for technology and modernity needs no introduction — but the first time I felt it was in our hotel elevator.
From the lobby on the 4th floor, we went down to the street and saw the directory board:

3rd floor – JR Lines
2nd floor – Ginza Line / Inokashira Line
1st floor – Taxis
B1 – Parking

An elevator directly connected to train and metro lines — that’s the kind of modernity I absolutely love.

And the sheer number of trains! Bullet trains, express trains, regular trains — a whole world of smooth, punctual, silent transportation.
It’s the kind of modernity that doesn’t need to show off; it simply works, quietly and perfectly, for the convenience of locals and tourists alike.
Again, all my love for that.

An even quieter — and more intimate — technological experience is the famous Japanese toilets.
I can’t go any further without mentioning those fantastic inventions: showers in every direction and intensity, heated seats, and even sounds of water and birds.

And it’s not just in five-star hotels or Michelin-starred restaurants — even subway station toilets are like that.

That kind of technology that works quietly — and intimately — is really my thing.

Another distinctive trait: the futuristic atmosphere.
When the buildings light up and the city starts pulsing after sunset, you feel like you’ve stepped straight into the future.

One evening, I got to see that from the top of Shibuya Sky.
Booking it for dusk was a mission — reservations open only for a few days at a time, and within minutes it’s sold out.
I even set four reminders a day on my phone to check when tickets became available.

It was worth it. The best view in Tokyo.

Still, one detail kept me from giving it a perfect 10.
The best photo spot was closed, and you had to queue to have your picture taken by their photographer — probably paid (I didn’t ask).
It didn’t seem fair. Or honest.

Standing in line is something you must be prepared for in Japan — maybe the second national activity, right after visiting temples.
The crowds leave no other option.
Want to eat? Get in line.
Want to drink? Get in line.
Even escalators inside subway stations have queues.
And the line for Osaka Castle could easily compete for a Guinness record.

The famous Shibuya Crossing is another battlefield — bloggers running, sitting, or dancing right in the middle of the intersection as soon as the light turns green, trying to make that video.
In reality, I didn’t find it as crowded as in the clips I’d seen.
Maybe people are starting to avoid it — it’s a bit of a mess now, and definitely less fun for those who just want to get to work or go home.

During our days in Tokyo, we went from geek neighborhoods to sleek, upscale ones: Ginza, Harajuku, Omotesando, Shinjuku, Shibuya, Azabudai Hills.
We walked streets full of neon lights and weird toy stores — or even weirder coffee shops, where Samoyeds or capybaras roamed between the tables — to elegant malls packed with designer brands, and others that looked frozen in time.

Skipping the geek part (and the animal cafés — I couldn’t help feeling bad for them), everything was undeniably beautiful, clean, and organized.

Still, nothing seemed to reach me. I have no doubt it was a problem with my connection — as if some circuit in my mind had shorted.

Nothing related to Japan, which was playing its role with precision.

Even so, one question kept popping up in my mind:

Am I the only person who’s not falling in love with Japan?

Misadventures at the Table

Almost at the end of the trip, I got a message from Yocha:
“Catia, are you starving in Japan?”

She was missing the photos I usually post of the dishes I try when I’m traveling — and she was right.

My first disappointment came right after we arrived.
Next to our hotel, we found something I’d seen in videos: okonomiyaki.
It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for our first dinner, but after almost 27 hours of flying, it was nearby — and all we wanted was to eat something quick and collapse in bed.

It’s known as a savory Japanese pancake. So far, so good.
What’s not so good is the mix itself. In our case, we picked one of the combos that came with meat, noodles, vegetables, and who knows what else.
What I tasted felt like the kind of dish you make when you’re just trying to clear out your fridge.
Nothing special.

Sometimes, good seasoning can save a dish. This was not one of those times.

I blamed the fatigue, but deep down, I went back to the hotel a little worried.
As Bianca always says about me:
“I get worried when you don’t like something. Whatever it is, I’m not going to try it.”

Then came the fish market. We arrived late, the restaurants were already closing, and we just went to the first one still open.
Nothing tasted as fresh as I’d imagined.

The next few days turned into a restless and unsuccessful search for a great Japanese meal.

I couldn’t believe myself. Normally, when I try a cuisine in its homeland — like Indian food in India — it completely outshines the versions I’ve had abroad.
But in Japan, strangely, that magic never happened.

We tried everything — from hyped-up restaurants we’d booked weeks in advance from Brazil to small local places that looked good and were full of people.
It took me a while to give up. I kept insisting, convinced that somewhere, my perfect Japanese dish was waiting for me.

One weekend fair looked promising — full of locals, tourists, and even a few people being followed by camera crews as they ate and strutted down the packed aisles.
It was good… but still not that good.
To be honest, having a guide would’ve been great — there was just too much going on. Too many smells, sounds, and things being sold. It was hard to choose what to try.

One night, in a desperate move to eat something different, Marcelo suggested a Spanish restaurant.
“Are you sure?” I said. “Spanish food… in Tokyo?”

I ordered a lovely bottle of Cava and waited.
When the paella arrived, I took one look and said, “I’m not eating that.”
He stared at me and asked, “So what are you having for dinner?”
“The Cava.”

We tried everything — fish dishes, the Japanese pancake, tofu, ramen, izakaya food, even Wagyu.

Speaking of elevated experiences, we had booked a sushi dinner — just a few seats at a counter where the chef prepared every piece of sushi and sashimi right in front of you. The whole experience was beautiful: the restaurant was in Azabudai Hills, one of Tokyo’s most modern and sophisticated areas, and the architecture was spotless and minimal.

For those who are crazy about sushi, it must be amazing. I like both sushi and sashimi, but to me, it’s far from being the best food in the world.

Then came the kaiseki dinner in Kyoto — Japan’s version of haute cuisine, where every bite looks like a tiny piece of art.

This one was my favorite among the four top experiences.

Our choice of sake pairing was a smart move — and it made all the difference.

Finally, I felt like myself again. It was so much better than any sake I’d tried in Brazil.

And, just like wine, sake can be sparkling (love it!), light, full-bodied, sweet, acidic, or refreshing — served cold or at room temperature.
Something I honestly didn’t know.

Also in Kyoto, we had dinner at a restaurant that had once held a Michelin star.
Its specialty was tempura — a must-try in Kyoto, apparently.
Dinner began with soft tofu, followed by a sequence of assorted tempura dishes, and ended with Wagyu beef and mushrooms with truffle.

We both liked the last one.
But we also agreed that the rest was just too much fried food — something I never enjoy and that usually makes me feel a bit sick.

And to top the “exclusive” experiences: Wagyu.
The restaurant itself had a theatrical atmosphere — dim lighting, a stage-like counter, and staff moving with rehearsed precision.
It was more than just dinner; it was a performance.
There were scenes with fire, bursts of smoke, and waiters playing their roles as if following a script.

Oh, and the Wagyu itself!
The meat was truly delicious — no doubt about that.
The only problem was the portion: way too small for a Brazilian used to eating unapologetically large steaks.

At a certain point, I was less worried about finding the perfect dish and more focused on understanding why I wasn’t enjoying what everybody else seemed to love.  

And I came up with one possible explanation:

In Japan, even the food feels polite — elegant, restrained, almost shy.
I, on the other hand, like food that speaks up — bold, full of character.

So Many Temples, So Little Zen

While in the Land of the Rising Sun, visiting temples is almost an Olympic sport.
And we had our share — a fair share, I must say.

After a few days, Marcelo was repeating nonstop: “Look! A temple.”

I was really impressed by the first one we visited, Senso-ji Temple.
Besides its beauty and historical value, its grandeur also caught my attention.

One thing, though, felt strange to me: we couldn’t get near the altar, only see it through bars.
Even for someone who’s not religious, something felt missing.
I felt like a child taken to an amusement park and only allowed to look at the rides from outside.

My second thought: Well, it’s going to be a little tricky to take good photos of these famous, photogenic temples with so many people around.
Maybe at 5 a.m.

I’m afraid nothing can be photogenic surrounded by a crowd of tourists — not even the most beautiful temple or bamboo forest.

After a few more visits, they started to look the same.
Until we arrived at Hase-dera Temple, near the Great Buddha of Kamakura.

Hase-dera has the perfect combination of beauty, imposing architecture, and a fantastic garden with a privileged view of the coast.
Although, to be honest, the view of the shore made me nervous — I’d just seen a ‘Tsunami evacuation route’ sign.

To make it even better, this one allowed us to step inside and have a look — or a prayer — at a magnificent Buddha.
We both agreed that one was really worth the visit.

And no temple marathon is complete without visiting those in Kyoto.

Looking like a painting right in front of you, Kinkaku-ji (the Golden Pavilion) is a must-see.
It stands in the middle of a pond and is completely closed to the public — which, I have to admit, was a bit frustrating because of course I wanted to get closer.
On the other hand, at least no one else could either — which means no random tourists photobombing my pictures.
You can squeeze up to the fence and take photos that make it look like a peaceful, secluded place.
No need to show what’s beyond the frame.

For Fushimi Inari Taisha — famous for its red torii gates — we arrived at 9 a.m. sharp.
It was already so crowded it looked like a procession squeezed inside the gates.

For those physically prepared, the best thing to do is hike all the way to the top of the mountain.
The full path forms a loop from the bottom to the top and back down — not an easy climb, but along the way, you can find perfect spots to capture those iconic red torii gates.

By coincidence, a friend was also in Japan at the same time.
He saw my pictures on Instagram and asked if I had arrived early — or used AI to erase the crowds — because the place looked empty.

I told him they still haven’t created an AI capable of such a miracle — erasing that sea of people and making it look good.
In reality, we hadn’t arrived that early; we’d just done the full two-hour hike, and the photos were taken from higher up.

One more memory from our temple marathon: in Kyoto, we visited Ryoan-ji — the famous Zen temple with its serene, minimalist stone garden.
A space covered in small white pebbles, perfectly raked. Larger rocks scattered here and there — a minimalist masterpiece.

Sitting on a raised platform, a small crowd watched in silence — pensive, contemplative, maybe even lost in thought.

I didn’t dare look at Marcelo.
I knew he’d make a comment that would make me laugh.

We’re just not the kind of people who genuinely understand meditation — and besides, it was hot, and the smell of feet was unbearable.

The truth is, the more temples we saw, the less peace I felt.

I’m simply incapable of imagining serenity in a crowd — quite the opposite.

At least, for me. 

Another horde of people to get to Kiyomizu-dera, followed by yet another one inside it.
Nothing there reminds you of peace and quiet.

Behind the Bow

They do speak in a very low voice. As Brazilians, used to a more expansive way of being, we practically have to lean in until our ears touch their face to hear them.

And if you put together the very low voice and the bow, there is no way you cannot feel cordiality.

On the other hand, one day, tired of the endless search for something we truly enjoyed eating, we decided to go back to the same restaurant where we’d had lunch earlier that week. The menu featured steak cooked on a hot stone — which honestly sounded more like a Brazilian thing, but it had been our best meal so far.

When we arrived, the place was completely empty. We headed to the reception and asked for a table.
The man behind the counter pointed to a clipboard outside and said, “Name.”

We didn’t really get why, since there was no line and not a single person waiting, but we wrote it down anyway.
A few minutes later, someone came, looked confused at what we’d written, and then — since we were literally the only ones there — invited us in.

They handed us a menu in Japanese, so I asked for the QR code to access the English version.
The man looked a bit lost, so I pointed at the menu and said, “English?”

The same guy who had made us write our names earlier came closer. I asked again, explaining we’d eaten there before and had the English menu last time.
He muttered something under his breath — and then suddenly threw the menu onto the table and said, “Go home.”

Really?!
Were we being insulted and kicked out — in Japan, of all places?

We stood up, and I said, “I’m going,” followed by something that definitely wasn’t my finest moment.
But honestly — I had never, ever been expelled from a restaurant before.

That day, for the first time, I saw what might hide behind the bow.

And one thing caught my attention: there’s nothing extraordinary about me losing my Zen — but a Japanese person? What´s going on there? Too many demanding tourists, or just a bad day? 

So Graceful She Could Walk on Crystal

A “for tourists” experience I actually enjoyed was the Tea Ceremony.
We went for a private one — and I may have forgotten to mention to Marcelo that it included kimonos.

I knew he’d back out immediately, and honestly, I really wanted to look silly in those outfits.

From the moment we left the hotel, I started noticing all kinds of geishas: Muslim geishas, Indian geishas, Black geishas — and soon, I was going to join that eclectic group myself.

When the time came, Marcelo looked like he wanted to disappear from the face of the Earth, while I was having the best time wearing a bright, heavily patterned red kimono.

But jokes and kimonos aside, once the ceremony began, everything changed — it became a fascinating glimpse into Japan’s famous sense of order, discipline, and perfection in every movement.
The woman performing it was so kind and graceful that I had the impression she could walk on crystal without breaking it.

The symbolism embedded in each gesture, the way the cup is handled and turned, the deliberate sequence of actions — everything makes the ceremony feel deeply meaningful.
Even though it’s designed for tourists, it doesn’t seem any different from the ones they do in their everyday life.

And now, ladies and gentlemen… guess how many real geishas I saw?
Not even one!

Where Is the Fucking Fuji?

When we were planning our trip, we both agreed that seeing Mount Fuji from a privileged viewpoint was something important.

With that in mind, we started looking for the best spots and ended up choosing Chureito Pagoda — an easy decision after seeing those famous photos with the mountain and the pagoda side by side in one perfect frame.

Yes! That’s the place!

So, without hesitation, we set off on the two-and-a-half-hour trip.
After all, it was just another ride on one of those amazing Japanese trains.

When the day came, we left the hotel and headed to the station.
After a flawless express train ride, we switched to an older, smaller, much slower one.
That’s when I noticed the weather wasn’t looking great — ironic, considering the previous four days had been nothing but blue skies.

At the final station, we stepped outside and began our walk, which soon turned into a steep hike up the mountain.
When I finally reached the small tiered viewing area and looked at the pagoda right in front of me, my mind went:

“Where is it?”
And, a split second later:
“Where is the fucking Fuji?”

A huge wall of clouds was hiding the shy Mount Fuji.
So that was the “view” we got after all that effort.

We had planned to go to another viewpoint by the lake to see it from there, but we gave up and took the train back to Tokyo.
It felt pointless. 

While we were on our way back, I had only one thought in mind:
I should’ve checked the weather and planned our itinerary accordingly.

But the days had been so beautiful until then that it never even crossed my mind.
I guess I was already hungry — trying to find something we actually liked to eat — and I can’t think straight when I’m hungry.

The Most Overwhelming Silence

Looking at a perfectly organized, clean, and functional city — knowing it was completely destroyed not so long ago — is nothing like what’s on your mind when you leave the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum.

We got off the train right in front of the A-Bomb Dome, one of the few buildings that didn’t collapse.
Even without the weight of its symbolism — resistance, resilience — the ruin itself is hauntingly beautiful.

Crossing the bridge to the other side of the river, we reached the Peace Memorial Park.
The park feels like an open-air museum: the Cenotaph for the A-Bomb Victims, the Children’s Peace Monument, the Atomic Bomb Memorial Mound, the Flame of Peace, the National Peace Memorial Hall, and many others — all remembering those whose lives were changed forever.

Just when I thought I’d already seen too many emotional tributes, we entered the Peace Memorial Museum.
Believe me, nothing in this world prepares you for what’s inside.

It begins with monumental photos of the very place where we were standing — taken just days after the bombing.
Not hard to believe.
Impossible to believe.

The next rooms are filled with detailed accounts of everything that happened in the aftermath of the explosion.

The horror of those first days — fire, radioactive rain drunk as if it were clear water, burns, hunger, thirst, loneliness, the loss of everything — and the lasting impact on so many families.

The museum was packed — and silent. Completely silent.  Everyone still mourning.
There were so many people that moving from one side of a room to another felt like crossing a dangerous, rushing river. Sometimes it was simply impossible.

They really need a bigger space. The current one — dark, packed, suffocating — makes the experience overwhelming for many visitors. I saw that.

After that, we were supposed to visit Miyajima, but we were exhausted — and no longer in the mood. The weight of Hiroshima lingered. So we called it a day.

Besides, the main attraction in Miyajima is the Itsukushima Shrine, famous for its red torii gate rising from the water — and by that point, Marcelo already had a new line:

“Look! A torii.”

Between the So-Called Perfection and Emotion

We also visited Osaka and Nara, spending one day in each.
Osaka Castle was impressive — and I was glad we had booked tickets online. When we left, even the online ticket line looked endless. Add the heat, and it was pure hell.

In Nara, I’d read that hundreds of “friendly” deer roam freely among visitors.
Not that friendly. Try putting your hand inside your bag without feeding them — or stop feeding them. Their politeness disappears in a flash.

Marcelo watched the scene and came up with his own conclusion:
“I prefer them on my plate.”
So do I.

By the end of the trip, I was still wondering why I hadn’t felt enchanted.
What the hell is going on?

I don’t run away from quirkiness — sometimes I even go toward it, by bullet train.
And I missed that in Japan.

Somewhere between frustration and fascination, I realized something.
I love looking for beauty in imperfection just as much as I admire the explicit beauty of perfection.

Since I fell in love with Asia — after sixteen countries and countless moments — it’s been a wonderful adventure of chaos, colors, scents, warmth, and spontaneity.
And somehow, I missed that in the Land of the Rising Sun.

The beauty of traveling lies in its uncertainty.

Not falling in love is part of it — and I’m glad I went and came back knowing a bit more about myself.

That, too, is something I treasure.