[The Trail] Travel is a Carbon Copy of Life (3/3)

Hasami: A Japan Travelogue – In Search of the Artisan's Spirit

“Are You Sleeping Here Tonight?”: Travel is a Carbon Copy of Life

한국어 버전을 보고 싶거나, 이야기를 계속해서 받아보길 원하시는 경우 아래 페이지로 이동해주세요.
(작가 블로그 가기)

“Irasshaimase!” (Welcome!)

The place felt like it was wrapped in a secret forest. The elderly couple greeted me with voices that were comforting just to hear and the warmest of smiles.

The sushi, which cost just over $10 per person, was, in a word, perfect. I can confidently say it was just as the reviews described—no, it was even better. The ‘rice’ of sushi was so perfect each grain felt alive, the sashimi(raw fish fillet) was fresh and thick, and the complimentary Nagasaki champon had the dignity of the original.

Lost in ecstasy, I chatted with the couple, losing all track of time. “Where are you from? What brings you all the way out to this countryside?” They welcomed me as if I were their own grandchildren.

The “rice” of sushi was so perfect each grain felt alive.

I was completely immersed in the joy of the food and conversation when the grandmother suddenly asked, as if just remembering.

“By the way... are you sleeping here tonight?”

‘Ah...! That’s right.’

The last bus was at 3:20 PM. The only bus. I had completely forgotten. The grandmother’s face went white as she looked at a thumb-stained printed bus schedule taped to the wall.

“Juu-go fun! (15 minutes!)”
“Oh my, you only have 15 minutes left!”

In that moment of shared panic, the grandfather, having just finished tending to the rice in the kitchen, said one simple thing.

“I’ll give you a ride. It’s close.”

I waved my hands in protest, flustered. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly! I only had one plate of sushi! I’ll find a hotel or something...”

“No time for that. It’s close. Get in!”

In that instant, the stereotype I held—that Japanese people are reserved about helping strangers—melted away.

We made it to the bus stop in his old car.

“Yoi tabi yo!” (Have a good trip!)
“Hontōni arigatou gozaimashita!” (Thank you so much!)

I bowed again and again. After a blur of goodbyes, I looked at the time. I still had five minutes until the bus was due. ‘If it weren’t for his selfless, priceless kindness, I wouldn’t be standing here.’ My heart ached with gratitude for this person, a complete stranger I had only just met.

Five minutes passed. ‘In Japan,’ I thought, ‘buses are never even one minute late...’ Only then did I truly look at my surroundings. The “bus stop” was just a pull-off area, overgrown with weeds. The bus didn’t come.

‘Uh oh... why isn’t it coming...?’
In a country famed for its punctuality, 15 minutes ticked by. Nothing.

‘Did he drop me at the wrong place?’ A thousand worst-case scenarios flooded my mind. Just then, a single bus appeared in the distance. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and climbed aboard.

Epilogue: Reflections on the Journey

If I hadn’t taken the risk of ‘no information,’ I would never have known the air of this tranquil village.
I would have missed the fairy-tale secret café and its coffee.
I would have missed the 50% off ‘lucky’ sale.
I would have missed the ecstasy of that ‘life-changing sushi.’
And I would have missed the warmth of the ‘benefactor(貴人)’ who appeared at the exact moment I was about to be stranded.

Travel is a carbon copy of life.

You plan a trip, obsessed with one thing you love. Worries don’t exist. Your heart, full of expectation, sees only a rose-tinted future.

That plan includes things that seem impossible, paths untrodden, and choices others call foolish. Like a racehorse with blinders on, you feel like you can just leap over any such pain.

But this new pioneering is always followed by fear and a corresponding, very real pain. If you step back and look at it with purely logical eyes, there is ‘zero’ reason to travel to a new place.

The Inefficiency and Absurdity of Travel

Someone once said travel is a uniquely human, irrational act. It’s true. It’s hard to imagine, in the coming age of AI, this pinnacle of inefficiency and absurdity—this pioneering of new paths—is something a robot would ever do on its own.

But, if you don’t look at those things (the inefficiency and absurdity)— or rather, if you are so obsessed with what you love that you can’t even see them— then a person goes. To an unfamiliar land, an unfamiliar field, an unfamiliar place, an unfamiliar job. Just as humanity has always done.

And in the end, you face things completely different from what you first planned. Sometimes you’re flustered. Sometimes it’s unbearable. Sometimes, you even come face-to-face with the weakest, most disgusting parts of yourself.

But, that is precisely where something new begins.

The preconceptions and prejudices you held are shattered. New ideas emerge. And people, as if sent from heaven, appear from nowhere and help you for reasons you can’t fathom. Soon, you find a breakthrough and encounter something even better.

More importantly, after a while, the success of the original goal doesn’t even matter anymore. You are simply proud and happy to be on the path itself. And that is what makes the journey priceless.

A bakery in Saga Prefecture during rush hour

You feel alive in the very act of pioneering.
What remains are the helping hands of strangers, and the people you cried with.
This entire process brings a satisfaction, an elation, and an irreplaceable fullness that comes from a love for humanity.

When we open the door of uncertainty, we receive the most priceless rewards we never planned for. And so, we must go.

To shout, “Ah! That’s right. This is why we travel!”