I kind of didn't wrap up the Japan trip here on chain, which is not the right thing to do. Yet, the last few days of Japan trip was fast. I went to the southern most tip of the large island of Honshu, and then from there all the way to Sapporo, in Hokkaido! That is more than 1000 km. I visited a few geologic sites, namely Susa Hornfels, where the pin on this post is located. I pinned it there because not many people visit these places.
Japan is much more than Fushimi Inari Taisha (the rare picture above without any people), or Motonosumi Shrine (the picture below with a lot of people). But the most important part of Japan is inside you! At least that is the way I feel about it.
People often travel to Japan with a checklist (I am not saying I didn't), the flashing neon of Tokyo, the bamboo forest of Arashiyama, the historic temples of Kyoto. But what if the most vital part of Japan cannot be captured in a photo or found on a map? I believe the enduring magic of Japan is not in its majestic tourist sites, but in a deeper current: the quiet, powerful resonance of its culture and the persistent grace of its rural, traditional people. It is a feeling that settles in your bones, a philosophy of life—one of meticulous care, enduring community, and deep respect for nature and history—that remains long after the crowds have dispersed. This is the Japan that truly matters, and it's the one we carry inside.
The outcrop of Susa honfels
A striking example of this philosophy is witnessed not in grand rituals, but in the meticulous theatre of the everyday. Take, for instance, the attendants of the Shinkansen (bullet train), or any regional train for that matter. When the ticket conductor enters or exits a car, they pause to execute a precise, formal bow—a moment of respect for the passengers and their space. Even more profound is the famous seven-minute cleaning crew. Upon completion, they bow toward the empty carriage, and sometimes even to the train itself, embodying the spirit of omotenashi (selfless hospitality) regardless of an audience. This level of reverence, directed even toward objects and empty spaces, mirrors the quiet respect shown by traditional villagers bowing before a torii gate—acknowledging the sacred and important nature of every connection and every task.
Tohoku Shinkansen on the way north
Tohoku Shinkansen Hayabusa
The picnic area in front of the Susa hornfels
This pervasive culture of respect is fundamentally rooted in Shinto beliefs, the ancient indigenous spirituality of Japan. Shinto teaches that the world is alive; it is a philosophy that sees kami (divine spirit, or sacred essence) residing in virtually everything. This means that a rushing waterfall, a sturdy old tree, a kitchen knife, and yes, even the Shinkansen itself, are not merely objects—they possess a life, a protective spirit, or an inner presence. Understanding this explains the profound bows given to an empty train car or the care given to everyday tools: they are honoring the kami within. This core belief transforms mundane activities into acts of quiet reverence, reinforcing the idea that everything in the world, down to the smallest detail, deserves mindful respect and meticulous care.
My ten days spent traversing the Japanese archipelago were not merely a tour of landmarks, but an unexpected journey inward. While the temples, gardens, and modern skylines provided the backdrop, the true highlights were the moments of quiet observation: the precise bow of a conductor, the deliberate movements of a cleaner, and the silent acknowledgment of the kami in the everyday. I left Japan not with a longer list of tourist sites checked off, but with a profound and personal shift in perspective. The most valuable part of the trip was realizing that the enduring beauty of Japan is not just out there, waiting to be photographed, but lives inside, echoing the deep-seated respect and meticulous care shown by the people and their ancient, vibrant culture.
