Posts

The public transportation system in Japan is the best one I have seen in any country I have traveled in, and it remains one of my favorite parts of the trip. It largely consisted of a metro subway system, buses, and bullet trains (Shinkansen). Each part of the system seemed to be created with public use and convenience in mind, and it was clear that the system was invested in.

For example, a typical day for us using public transportation might look something like this: First, we would walk to the subway station, which would never be more than a 15 minute walk. Taking out our Suica cards, we would tap into the station. Suica cards were given to us the first day of the program and were pseudo-credit cards used to pay for the subway and bus. They were also accepted as a form of payment in convenience stores and many other major stores, incentivizing their use. If the payment declined, there were Suica reloading stations in every subway station near the payment gate. Many of us also used the online Suica card, which could be reloaded with Apple Pay. Suica cards would once again be used while exiting, ensuring an appropriate amount was charged.

While entering and exiting a station, we would often use the escalator, where we would stand on the left single file as the right side was left open for people in a rush. Much of our time was spent following our professors around like ducklings, but the system was self-explanatory enough for us when we were on our own. Inputting a destination into a navigational app would bring up transit options, and we simply had to match the line symbol, platform number, and time on our phone to the large signs around the station. The line symbols and numbers associated with the platforms, train cars, trains, and stations made traveling incredibly simple, and many trains had English station names regardless. Trains also ran regularly and on time, rarely being more than a couple of minutes late. There were different types of trains: local, express, semi-express, rapid, and limited express, which would stop at more or less stations, increasing the speed of travel, and thinning out the crowds on trains. Larger stations had gates that would open and close near the edge as a safety measure, and numbered queue lines to avoid congestion. During busier hours, people would pack in close, everyone mindful to stay quiet and avoid taking up space—many people would shift their backpacks to the front to not accidently hit someone. Women-only trains ran during rush hour to promote safety.

Buses were similar, running regularly and paid with a Suica card. A screen at the front would display the station name and charge owed, and buttons on each beam could be pressed to alert the driver to make a stop.

During the second leg of the trip, we used Shinkansen’s to cover lengthy distances, sometimes traveling cross-country in a day. We were provided JR Passes for the Shinkansens rather than paying with a Suica card, and we had randomly assigned seats for each train with space for our luggage. The JR station was different than the metro area, and we would insert our JR pass into a slot, picking it up on the other side of the gate. We had more room than in an airplane, a better view, and we were infinitely more comfortable. Sometimes, we could spin our seats around, and create groups of four to spend more time talking to each other.

The sheer efficiency of the system facilitated a culture of using public transportation regularly out of choice, where it was a more viable option than cars. Indirectly, this facilitated a culture of exercise and better health, as well as reducing pollution and congestion in an already small country. Japan is an excellent example of how good public transportation improves the well-being of a country and its people, and it remains one of my favorite aspects of our trip.

One of the first things I noticed about Japan upon arrival was how clean it is. Every street, park, train station, playground, and sidewalk was in impeccable condition with no litter. However, I was baffled by how they keep their surroundings so clean with minimal public trashcans. As I got accustomed to Japan, I loved seeing the appreciation the people have for their environment. It was great to learn how Japan burns the majority of its trash at incineration plants. While visiting the Hikarigaoka Incineration Plant, we learned how the Clean Authority of Tokyo collects, transports, processes, and disposes of Japan’s trash. 

Within the 23 Cities, each municipality is responsible for waste management, this change was enacted in 2000 when responsibility shifted from Tokyo Metropolitan Government to the 23 Cities. The Clean Authority of Tokyo has authority for intermediate waste treatment such as incineration, and must comprehensively plan with the Cities for processing. Each city determines collection days for household waste disposal and is free of charge. Chargeable waste removal includes business and large-scale wastes. 

One of the first operations we observed while at the plant was garbage trucks dumping their waste into the combustible waste platform. The trucks backed up to extremely large doors which opened to a waste pit that could hold up to 20 meters of trash. In the pit, a large claw reached down, picked up trash, and dropped it back down in order to mix the waste and make the trash more uniform and level. When it was time to incinerate garbage, the claw would grab it and carry it to a large hole that led to the incinerator. The incinerator burns the waste at a temperature of over 800℃. Burning at such a high temperature has environmental benefits such as limiting dioxin release. Within the incineration plant are giant boilers that use the heat energy to produce electricity which is used to power the plant itself and sold to power companies. 

Dangerous gases such as dioxins, mercury, and hydrogen chloride are byproducts of burning trash. These gases are removed from the exhaust by moving through a series of filters and a gas scrubber which cleans the gas with water and neutralizing chemicals. The clean gases are then released into the environment through the tall stack. 

Japan’s cleanliness can be explained by many reasons; education, cultural values, government involvement, recycling, and religious influence. Children are taught in schools and their homes to keep their spaces clean and take responsibility for their surroundings. This responsibility continues into adulthood and is a large aspect of Japanese culture. Government initiatives encourage people to reduce, reuse, and recycle. Charging extra for shopping bags and separating their trash into components are ways that Japan reduces and recycles their waste effectively. I was surprised the first time I went to a 7-Eleven and they asked if I needed a bag and then charged me for it. However, I came to appreciate using my own reusable shopping bag and it’s a practice I will apply in America. If America could implement an incineration system like Japan does, I think we could see less litter in the streets and decrease our reliance on landfills. Urging the importance of cleanliness and enforcing fines, extra charges, and increasing waste education could all benefit the environment. I hope America learns from Japan in this regard.

Okawa Elementary School, located about 30 minutes away from Sendai, was our last stop during the second leg of the trip. We traveled almost clear across the country from Hakata to Sendai in a day using a Shinkansen, and then used a bus to head to the school. We all had background on Okawa Elementary, of course, and I had managed to find a multiple-page survivor account during my background research. The account described drowning in alarming detail; as if the immense water pressure and terror wasn’t enough, the students also described the whirling debris clashing against their body, the smell of stale fish choking their lungs. I carried these vague sensory details with me as I peered out the window, expecting something similar—old debris, perhaps, or a lingering smell. The houses grew sparser and older as we drew closer, writing a grim memoir of the aftermath.

Okawa Elementary School stood broken, smaller than I had expected. A tall hill loomed right behind the school, and fields stretched out in every other direction. A river flowed further away, and I knew that one of the tsunami waves that had hit the school had come from there. When we got down the bus, a man led us to a plaque in front of the school. He held a small booklet of words and pictures—a makeshift presentation. “Forgive my English,” he told us. “I didn’t know it before the tsunami, but I am learning. I want to make sure everyone can understand my message.”

Four of his family died in the tsunami, he said. His daughter was one of them. As the tsunami hit the school, he was stranded on the other side of a bridge between the school and his house, unable to get to his daughter. He led us closer to the broken remanent of the school, where we could peer inside. Chairs and chalkboards stood still, frozen at 3:37 PM. This is the first grade classroom, he said. This is the second grade classroom. Third grade, fourth grade. I watched him and the makeshift presentation in vague horror, abruptly realizing how young the children were. He didn’t cry, and his voice hardly wavered, but when he looked at the school, he might as well have been looking through it. I wondered briefly what he was looking for, and then our professor’s words from Hiroshima rang in my head. This is a graveyard, he had told us. Walk respectfully. Okawa was no different. There were souls interwoven in the atoms in the air, tangible if you closed your eyes.

We walked to where the children had been trying to evacuate—directly into the path of the tsunami, away from the hill, and far too late. This was where many of the bodies had been found. I stared at the ground by my feet and imagined what the storyteller told us, rescuers arriving days too late and finding children in the mud. There must have been broken, sharp, debris, I thought. It must have smelled like rotten seaweed and fish.

The storyteller then announced that we would hike to the point that the students would have needed to be safe. I anticipated a long climb, but we had hardly walked for half a minute when he stopped us to show us a sign, nestled barely a fourth of the way up the hill. TSUNAMI ARRIVAL POINT, it read. I blinked. We were led onto a large platform, above the safety point. If the students could have gotten here, we were told, they would have been safe. The platform was large enough to hold all the students and teachers.

Disaster preparation and prevention is important, the storyteller, the museum, the brochures, the makeshift presentation told us. We hope this never happens again to anyone’s children. 74 out of the 78 children at the elementary school, and 10 of the 11 teachers died unnecessarily. Authorities had knowledge of the tsunami; they knew the importance of safety drills. There were hours to evacuate. We hope you heed our message, learn from our mistakes, they told us.

As I walked back to the bus, I listened to the crunch of gravel beneath me, the wind swirling the empty classrooms, silence where the laughter of children should be. Listen carefully, the storyteller had told us as we walked down the hill. You can still hear them.

Visiting the Hiroshima Memorial Museum was an eye-opening experience that allowed me to gain a deeper understanding of the devastating impacts of the atomic bomb dropped on August 6, 1945. The museum was filled with artifacts, displays, personal items, and stories that highlighted the bomb’s effects and lessons that followed. As I walked through the exhibit, I was first shown the beauty Of Hiroshima before the incident. Shortly after, We are shown a 3-D live interactive video of the bomb being dropped, where it hit, and what it affected. The rest of the path focused on the aftermath of the bomb. We would see the effects of radiation exposure on clothes, daily necessities, and humans themselves. The effects of being exposed to radiation were so gruesome to victims but also to those who were not affected directly by the bomb itself. Many were suffering from health effects that did not appear directly after the bomb.

One case that really shook me was a little girl named Ritsuko Masuda. She was a third-year student at Hiroshima Jogakuin Girls High School. She didn’t suffer from direct burns but suddenly felt ill and started to vomit blood which was pretty typical for survivors. Due to the shortage of health necessities, she had to receive a transfusion with horse blood, causing more health complications for decades. The museum detailed the aftermath survivors had to deal with. Such as health issues, social stigmas, and trauma. It also taught me about the importance of nuclear warfare. Illustrating how there is an ongoing threat of nuclear weapons and their capabilities for destruction. They continue to fight to prevent such a catastrophe from happening again. The museum laid many historical monuments that serve as a reminder of the lives lost. We also saw the iconic A-Bomb Dome which serves as a powerful symbol of hope. It was preserved to show the real-life effects of a bomb and how much destruction causes not only to infrastructure but lives too.

The museum emphasizes on education so that we never forget what happened and to continue to advocate for peace. Additionally, I learned about the incredible spirit of the people in Hiroshima. Despite the city being completely destroyed, they worked hard to rebuild their lives and turn the city into what it was once before. It’s covered with beautiful stores, homes, and agriculture. Overall, visiting the museum was a transformative experience that I will never forget.

Researching about Okawa Elementary School and the tragic events in 2011 allowed me to gather information quickly and conveniently without feeling the emotional weight of the tragedy. Visiting Okawa Elementary School, however, was a completely different experience. Standing on the actual grounds of what used to be an amazing atmosphere made the tragedy much more real. 

As we arrived at the school I could immediately notice the different atmosphere and landscape from the city. We were in a peaceful rural town that was surrounded by agriculture, hills, small homes, and towns. We met with a guide who would personally connect to the tragedy with the loss of his daughter at the school, allowing us to gather a deeper sense of what really happened. The school was in ruins, almost completely unrecognizable. There were broken walls and debris scattered all around. The school was well preserved, with the walls torn down to expose the inside of the buildings. This allowed for us to see what damage the tsunami caused within the building as it was completely engulfed. It was tough to imagine this as a place once filled with kids full of energy. The guide pointed out the different grades and ages of the kids that used to attend. Also, what side of the buildings would they study and play. It was all completely destroyed. The quiet atmosphere and surroundings made it more intense. 

The personal stories from the guide about his daughter brought me to tears. I wondered why he would take the time out of his day to guide us through this horrific site where he lost his daughter. He would go on to stress to us that he does this to prevent the same thing from happening again to anyone else. There was plenty of time for the kids and teachers to escape, But because of a lack of safety precautions taken and taught, many important lives were lost. The guide would then lead us to a path up a hill that looked over the school. It was used for school activities. There was a sign that marked the height that the tsunami had reached. It shocked me that the hill was taller than the Tsunami. Many lives could have been saved. 

Learning about Okawa Elementary School online gave me a broad and detailed overview. Meanwhile, Visiting the school provided a deep emotional impact that I can not get just from researching. Both are great ways of learning, but the visit made an impact that was much more profound.

Although I was only five years old at the time, to this day, I vividly remember how the news about the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Plant put the Japanese community on edge. My mother, in particular, was deeply concerned for our family’s safety when grocery shopping. Our Japanese-styled diet made it inevitable to intake food imported from Japan, but she took many precautions to ensure our safety. First of all, she carefully checked the production area of all food products, avoiding those made in Fukushima for a while. She even contacted various food industries to inquire about the gap between production and expiration dates to stock up on items produced before the disaster. Additionally, since some Japanese products sold in the U.S. used encrypted expiration dates, she reached out to companies to decode these symbols. Although the level of concern varied by family, the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant incident caused immense anxiety in Japanese communities worldwide. 

Although the tragedy caused immense harm to the environment and human health, I was still surprised that the very first thing we saw on the tour at the TEPCO Decommissioning Archive Center was a video of a sincere apology for the accident. The incident occurred more than a decade ago when most of us were children unaware of what was happening around us. We lived on the other side of the globe. The company made many efforts to minimize the damage, and most workers that were there on the day of the tour may or may not have been responsible for the accident. Even so, they explicitly acknowledged their former “overconfidence” regarding safety and deeply apologized for their oversight. Seeing the powerful Tokyo Electric Power Company offer such a thorough apology struck a chord with me. It conveyed, almost painfully, their continuous and tremendous effort to learn from their errors.

The tour was highly educational, providing a wealth of scientific explanations about the causes of the damage, supplemented by visual displays of the decommissioning efforts. Before entering the Daiichi nuclear power plant site, each individual was given a protective vest and a radiation monitoring device that displayed the total amount of radioactive exposure accumulated during the visit. This exposure was extremely low, around 0.2 microsieverts, equivalent to only 1-2 dental X-rays, ensuring our safety. Additionally, they showed us detailed measurements of the chemical compounds in the ALPS-treated and diluted water they began releasing into the sea last year. The numerical levels of the elements clearly indicated that the cesium and strontium levels were significantly reduced to safe levels. Furthermore, the willingness to be honest about the underlying roots of the accident and their responsibilities were admirable. They were clear about the significant population loss of the nearby towns like Okuma from 11,000 to 700 people as well as the possible solutions they could have taken to prevent the accident. The amount of effort TEPCO puts into proving its commitment to building a brighter future in harmony with the community and the environment is absolutely impressive.

During this trip, I was gifted the opportunity to take the role the interpreter at various places we visited. When I was first offered this chance, I jumped to it immediately, recognizing it as a rare chance to not only apply and enhance my bilingual skills but also to challenge myself by navigating complex conversations on sensitive subjects in a professional context. However, this came with many challenges, some I anticipated and others I did not until I was in the position.

I would like to mention some of the most significant challenges I encountered throughout this unique experience:  

• Nonverbal communication

Interpreting storytelling was difficult since it required us to maintain constant eye contact to signal when one person had finished speaking. Since the speakers were accustomed to presenting to Japanese audiences, they were not used to pausing after every few sentences for interpretation. Therefore, the situation often required me to occasionally interrupt, which I was initially reluctant to do as I felt it was not very polite and might disrupt the flow of the story. However, I had to fully commit to my role, reminding myself that both the storyteller and my peers relied on me to convey the story clearly and I should not inadvertently skip over any details they mentioned, which was something that could easily occur if I do not interrupt after a few lines of speaking. This was a challenge I hadn’t anticipated until I found myself in the position, highlighting the complexities of interpreting in real-time for sensitive subjects.

• Untranslatable linguistic nuances

Some nuanced expressions unique to Japanese culture were evident, especially during the storytelling session about the Itai Itai Disease. For instance, the storyteller began by painting a detailed picture of her home, describing how “nearby a gentle stream, three stepping stones led to my house…” When I asked for feedback from my peers later that day, it became apparent that some of them questioned its relevance, which was eye-opening for me. Similar to what the storyteller had done, Japanese etiquette often involves starting letters with greetings that reflect the season, like 「春風にのってほのかに花の香りが漂う頃となりました。」(“The spring breeze now carries a faint scent of blooming flowers.”) If asked to explain how these elements tie into the central message of the letter, I would struggle to come up with a comprehensive answer. Growing up surrounded by these nuances that included unneeded yet beautiful expressions, I had not fully appreciated this difference in the art of the language until now. Besides its deep connection to nature, the Japanese language also employs onomatopoeia and varying degrees of formality, which were also difficult to directly translate.

• Improvisational interpretation

Although I was sometimes given a script, storytellers slightly altered what they talk about depending on the day. The unpredictability meant I often had to quickly adjust to their spontaneous changes while translating on the spot. This became especially difficult when storytellers used vague pronouns like he, she, or it that were not fully obvious in context. I would have to quickly process these references to clarify their intended meaning.

• Withstanding heartbreaking stories

Translating these heart-wrenching survivor stories was quite emotionally challenging. The narratives themselves were deeply moving and difficult to listen to on itself. When translating, I had to further immerse myself in the speaker’s perspective, and using first-person pronouns enhanced the emotional connection as a personal experience. This made the emotional impact even more profound. 

Although it was incredibly demanding to take the role of the interpreter, this experience was truly priceless. I am deeply thankful to my professors for granting me this opportunity, my peers for entrusting a non-professional to assist in their study abroad journeys, and the storytellers who generously shared their narratives. Their willingness to open up and share their stories ensured a transformative learning experience for me, and hopefully, I was able to convey their stories with the same emotional depth for my peers. This experience had led me to the realization that I am determined to continue training myself to be a better bridge between my two home countries.

As soon as we stepped off the bus, we were greeted by a tanned man with gray hair and a gaze that carried both strength and kindness. “I am Nobuyuki Suzuki, and I will be your storyteller today,” he introduced himself. His welcoming smile, veiling his sorrow, made me wonder if he was simply a resident who lived near Okawa Elementary School during the disaster. However, with unwavering strength in his voice, he continued, “It was on this very ground where my daughter’s life was taken on March 11, 2011, by the devastating tsunami of the Tohoku Earthquake.”

At that moment, a wave of emotion slammed me, and tears uncontrollably streamed down my face. The raw pain and the unimaginable loss he concealed behind his voice enveloped us all, connecting us to his story intimately. Initially, I stood in front of the crowd to listen to his story. However, witnessing the father, who had suffered the loss of his own daughter and yet bravely shared his tale while masking his own grief, I could not bear to cry in front of him. I quietly moved to the back, trying to contain my tears.

For those unfamiliar with this incident, the tragedy of Okawa Elementary School was an event that deeply scarred the history of the education sector in Japan during the Tohoku Earthquake 2011. Despite the authorities properly receiving several warnings of a tsunami, the school kept students in the schoolyard for 50 minutes as they struggled to make judgments for evacuation, and the lives of 74 students and 11 teachers were wiped out. Since the tragedy occurred due to reasons that could not be solely dismissed as the fault of natural disasters, families of the lost students have been under a never-ending battle with mixed feelings of sorrow and boiling anger that lacked resolution. This included our storyteller, Mr. Suzuki.

He showed us around the school grounds, and the sight was devastating. The building’s walls were ripped apart, completely exposing the interior, with window frames crumpled like twigs. The children illustrated on the wall that saw everything that happened that day surrounded the playground. Faded by the powerful tsunami, their expressions somewhat looked melancholic, and their once vibrant colors now became a haunting reminder of the long lost energy of innocent children. The corridors were absolutely destroyed and stood as a stark testament to the monstrous tsunami that had ravaged the school. When even the robust steels were absolutely deformed, just imagining the pain they must have undergone in their final moments wrenches my heart.

The sign marking the tsunami’s height was unimaginably high yet heartbreakingly

low enough that it seemed as though all students and teachers could have quite easily escaped on time with logical instructions. As a teacher at a Japanese school in Columbus, I may not be a full-time professional, but I deeply understand the weight of the immense responsibility of caring for the community’s precious treasures. I can feel the panic that must have

gripped the adults, clouding their ability to act rationally. Even so, knowing the time and evacuation options they had, this tragedy feels not just preventable but unforgivable. The weight of those lost lives hangs heavily in my heart.

Although I could not revive the children who have past away, as much as I would want to if I had that power, my fellow Buckeyes and I found the most meaningful way to help the victim families of this tragedy was to honor the memory of the children to heart and commit to preventing such a tragedy from ever happening again.

While translating Japanese articles to share with my fellow Buckeyes, I delved into Mr. Suzuki’s accounts and the items displayed in the memorial building, uncovering depths we could not fully explore during our visit. I realized there are endless stories within this tragedy, and as a Japanese individual, a teacher, someone who loves children, and a human being, I feel a deep obligation and unwavering commitment to continue absorbing the invaluable lessons. The memory of these children drives me to ensure their legacy endures and inspires positive change.

Thank you, Mr. Nobuyuki Suzuki, for the powerful story.

One aspect of traveling I look forward to the most is trying the local cuisine. However, because I am a vegetarian, this is often challenging, which is partially why I decided to eat fish while in Japan. I was very nervous that I wouldn’t like fish, but I ended up loving it, and my culinary adventure in Japan became an unforgettable journey. I am so glad that I could experience the incredible diversity of Japanese cuisine while getting advice on where to eat and what to order from locals. From Tokyo to Hiroshima, I savored various regional flavors, trying many different types of fish for the first time and exploring the unique dishes each area had to offer.

We spent most of our time on the program in Tokyo, Japan’s bustling capital, which offers a wide variety of foods. It was here that I ate sashimi for the first time and completely fell in love with it. The freshness of the tuna and salmon slices, paired with the perfect amount of wasabi and soy sauce, created a delicate and flavorful experience that was both refreshing and savory. The texture of the fish was unlike anything I had ever tried, melting in my mouth with each bite. At the same restaurant, I tried kani miso and shrimp for the first time. This was easily one of my favorite meals over the course of the trip.

Another Tokyo street food that I tried was takoyaki. The octopus-filled dough balls were crispy on the outside yet soft on the inside, drizzled with a savory sauce and sprinkled with bonito flakes. We ate these with students from Tokyo University, who recommended putting mayonnaise on top, which added to the flavor. The rich, umami flavor of the octopus complemented the batter very well, making it a tasty meal even though I wasn’t a huge fan of the chewy texture.

The desserts we ate in Tokyo were also incredibly delicious. One of my favorites was taiyaki, a fish-shaped pastry. I chose one filled with sweet red bean paste and loved it. The warm, crispy exterior and the sweet, smooth filling made it the perfect treat. Another unique dessert we ate was “the world’s strongest matcha ice cream.” I was nervous about trying it because I thought it might be too much, but the intense bitterness of the matcha balanced the light sweetness of the ice cream perfectly. Honestly, I loved everything I ate with matcha or red bean paste.

When we went to Azabu University, one of the students and faculty recommended that we try natto, which is fermented soybeans. Natto is unique to Japan and known to be an acquired taste, so I approached it with curiosity. We got some at a local grocery store, and when we opened the container, its strong and pungent aroma spread quickly. The texture was also very sticky and slimy, but the texture was mostly savory, especially when mixed with soy sauce and mustard. I didn’t particularly like natto, but I think I would have liked it better if it had been combined with rice or a different food.

We were told that Hiroshima was famous for its oysters and Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki. When we went to Miyajima, we decided to try oysters and rushed to find a place with raw and baked ones. I never had oysters before and wasn’t sure what to expect. They were plump and juicy, and the raw ones had a rich flavor and tasted strongly of salt water. The baked ones were my favorite as they were coated in herbs and were very tender and warm. We also had Momiji Manju on Miyajima Island, which is a maple-leaf-shaped cake filled with sweet bean paste. The traditional sweet was soft and slightly chewy, with a delicate sweetness that paired perfectly with the iced matcha we had with it.

Another highlight of my trip was the Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki. This savory pancake was layered with cabbage, noodles, seasonings, and seafood, all cooked on a hot griddle and topped with tangy sauce and mayonnaise. The combination of textures and flavors was incredibly satisfying and was the perfect comfort food.

Over the course of the trip, I encountered a wide variety of seafood and fish, most of which were new to me. I tried different types of tuna and salmon, bonito, unagi, shrimp, crab, herring, and more. I also really enjoyed eating different styles of soba, udon, and ramen throughout the trip, from more traditional tororo soba to vegan ramen. Exploring the regional flavors of Japan through its diverse cuisine was eye-opening. Each dish I tried offered a glimpse into the country’s rich culinary heritage, and every bite was a step deeper into understanding and appreciating the incredible diversity of Japanese food.

Japan is home to many cultural treasures and is famous for its numerous temples and shrines, which stand out as gateways to the country’s rich spiritual heritage. I was so excited to visit as many different places as possible in Japan, and I couldn’t wait to learn more about their history and significance. Over the course of the program, I saw many different temples and shrines, but the Sensō-ji Temple in Asakusa, Meiji Jingu Shrine in Shibuya, and the Itsukushima Shrine in Hiroshima were my favorites.

The first Shrine I visited was the Meiji Jingu Shrine in Shibuya. It is a Shinto shrine dedicated to Emperor Meiji and Empress Shoken and is located in a beautiful park hidden away from the bustling city. Walking through the massive torii gate and along the tree-lined path to the shrine felt like stepping into a completely different part of the country. The tranquility and surroundings were truly enchanting. It was cool to see the sake barrels lining a section of the pathway as an offering to the Emperor and Empress to which the shrine is dedicated. When we arrived at the main area of the shrine, we washed our hands at the purification area before entering the shrine to make a donation and offer prayers. The serene atmosphere and beautiful natural setting made Meiji Jingu a perfect place for reflection and connecting with Japan’s spiritual heritage. Before we left, we each received a poem, or Waka, written by the Empress herself, which holds special meanings to those who receive them.

Next, we went to Sensō-ji, which is the oldest temple in Tokyo and is located in Asakusa. After one of the program days, we visited Sensō-ji and learned that the temple is dedicated to Kannon, the Buddhist goddess of mercy. As we approached the temple, we passed through the Kaminarimon, or Thunder Gate, which had a massive red lantern hanging in the center and statues of different protective deities. I enjoyed walking through the main hall, Hondo, and drawing an omikuji. The five-story pagoda was also very beautiful, and I had a lot of fun simply exploring the temple grounds. Before we left, we walked down Nakamise Street, which was lined with traditional shops selling souvenirs and snacks.

One of the last destinations of the program was the Itsukushima Shrine on Miyajima Island, near Hiroshima. It is famous for its torii gate, which usually appears to float on the water during high tide but was instead land-locked when we visited. The shrine is dedicated to the Shinto deities of the sea and storms and blends in with its natural surroundings. I enjoyed walking through the shrine’s hallways and seeing the torii gate from different angles. The whole island was a haven of natural beauty, and some of us even hiked up a trail to see the gate from a scenic viewpoint. The Itsukushima Shrine and Miyajima were definitely some of my favorite, most memorable parts of my journey.

Visiting temples and shrines in Japan was not just about admiring architectural beauty but was more about connecting with the spiritual and cultural essence of Japan. Each site I visited offered a unique experience, from the bustling energy of Sensō-ji to the tranquil elegance of Meiji Jingu, and the mystical aura of Itsukushima Shrine. As I explored these sacred spaces, I gained a deeper appreciation for Japan’s history, beliefs, and the timeless traditions that continue to shape its identity.