My last week or so in Japan was spent gloriously. I lazed in the sunshine and peace of the forested hills of Okayama, breathed in the enormity of Hiroshima, and finally found myself besotted with Japan's lesser-loved city of Osaka.

My roommate from Niseko, Polly, had been telling me all winter about her home away from home at the Arts and Crafts Village hiding high in the rural hills of Okayama. Always keen to explore new mountains and forests, I eagerly accepted an invitation to visit (actually may have just invited myself) and spent a lovely few days catching up with Poll-chan and experiencing rural Japanese life. Poll's host mum Toyomi-san is a force of artistic skill- her weaving room is a feast for the eyes of home-dyed and spun wools, with sewing patterns clipped to the walls and looms sitting in the sunlight just waiting for her skilled fingers to pluck and ply. The Arts and Crafts village is in an old primary school building- the kitchen gas fittings are old bunsen burner taps, the benches all run at about knee height (Japanese kids are small!), the ceilings high and the windows too. Poll has made her home in the cafe, and with a piano and guitar loitering in there I made it my home too. We explored the abandoned houses nearby (a sad fact of Japanese rural living- the younger generation are fleeing to the cities, and houses passing from parents to absent children quickly fall into disrepair), made home-made vegan tempura from pond weed, passed many an hour sitting in the intermittent sunshine and shade created by a sakura-heavy tree swaying in the wind, and just generally had a lovely, lovely time.

We tempered all this lovely, loveliness by a day trip to Hiroshima- a city everyone knows for the atomic bomb dropped on it to end World War II. To prepare ourselves for a hard afternoon we spent the morning on nearby Miyajima Island, famed for its huge torii gate sitting out in the bay. This also gave us a more real sense of the size of Hiroshima, so later when we were at the museum the extent of the destruction wrought by the bomb was slightly more comprehensible, and even more horrible. I still remember learning of Hiroshima as a girl, and being gob-smacked by the atrocities we commit against each other. The most moving part for me was the display of the origami cranes folded by Sadako- a true story of a young girl who develops leukaemia after the bombing, who hopes that folding a thousand paper cranes will grant her wish to get well. It doesn't, and this heart-breaking story inspired her classmates and children around the world to fold cranes as a memorial- to this day, thousands upon thousands of cranes are sent to the Peace Museum every year. Sadako's cranes were painstakingly tiny and perfect, often folded on the cellophane sweets are wrapped in when she had nothing else. Her statue and the display cases filled with cranes folded by others was both heartening and heart-breaking.

My departure from Japan was swiftly drawing near- Polly left me at the station to clamber onto a single car train to take me from the mountains of Okayama to a bus and on to Osaka. Osaka had gotten a pretty bad rap from most people I'd chatted to about it- lacking the history of Tokyo and Kyoto, it is just another city with nothing really to do. With this in mind I'd allowed myself only two days and a single night, and imagined that after that I'd be glad to pop on off back to Aus. How surprising then, that this was absolutely not the case.

I had a genuinely great time in Japan. The snow of Hokkaido and the bustle of backpacking afterwards was enriching and just plain fun. But I'll admit readily that I never felt my heart sit up and say- 'Hey! I could spent a while here... Pick me up later!' In my time in both Russia and China, my heart did sit up and say that- so ardently in fact, that I have left little parts of it loitering there and waiting to be recollected (you try ripping your soul away from somewhere once it has gone all limpet-mode on you). Japan is fun, and fine, and interesting, and cool, and the language also- but I never felt that ache of wanting to throw myself into the culture and country in any and all ways possible. Some of my best friends from my time there did have that feeling, and I observed them with envy as they waxed lyrical on Japanese culture and language and did-you-knows and isn't-it-amazings. Because I know that feeling- but I just didn't have it for Japan. Until, that is, Osaka. Oh Osaka. Raw, gritty, dirty, sprawling Osaka.

Osaka is certainly an Asian city. Seems like an obvious statement, but if you remember my sentiment in Tokyo you'll understand what I mean. Osaka is dirty, and smelly at times, and busy, and teeming with Stuff Happening. I arrived late on a Sunday afternoon, and with a vegan restaurant's address in hand I begun my general wanderings-in-the-direction-vaguely-well-sort-of to fill the hours before dinner. Bored quickly of a main road chocked with Louis Vuitton and Gucci, I cut off into the humming backstreets, with their graffitied vending machines (shock!) and their litter (horror!). One said street had thumping dance music from every shop, the bass vibrating through the pavement and infecting me with oh-maybe-I-could-find-a-nightclub-later-and-dance-dance-dance, before culminating in a square with a huge screen playing a Japanese DJ set and people dancing in the street. Fashion was edgy, the music was edgy, and in the sunset it all felt very surreal and darn cool. After dinner I found the famous food streets, with absolutely huge fake foods looming from the second stories of restaurants with queues upon queues outside, people everywhere, and the most amazing smells. (Also sometimes super not amazing smells. Vegan sensitivities strike again). I wandered along a canal flanked by huge neon signs, enjoying the flickering glow and the party barges rolling past (at comically glacial pace), found myself in an entire street of 'love hotels' (lushly themed rooms you can rent by the hour) and desperately didn't want to leave.

But alas! My time was up. A last visit to the famed Osaka Pokemon Centre (certainly one of my happy places. So. Many. Pikachu) and a last vegan cafe (the server was so excited I had lived in Melbourne, as he too had visited- and brought over his Myki card as proof) before the train journey out to the airport. Just before you reach the airport the train crosses a huge body of water- maybe a bay, or river, I'm not sure- but wow, it was breathtaking. And with the final rays of a setting sun glimmering across the flat flat water, a fitting sight to end my time in the land of the rising sun. 

Kyoto was once too the capital of Japan. And boy, that is a city that bears its regal history with pride (and also a hearty dose of temples). Sitting in a lush valley surrounded by forested hills, Kyoto feels like a much more manageable size than Tokyo, and with a smaller concentration of tourist sights it also feels like all the foreigners in Japan are kicking around Kyoto.

Kyoto was also where I finally got my eating situation sorted out. Tokyo was a hungry day or two of a reminder that being vegan in Japan and expecting to be able to just wander around and find food is a grossly poor assumption. Up in Niseko I had my fave places by the end of the season where I knew I could find fantastic vegan friendly fare (with the help of the my Japanese speaking friends), but actually travelling as a vegan in Japan is freakin hard. Fortunately this problem is completely sorted by some simple internet research- once I downloaded an app that listed vegan restaurants complete with directions meal times became a lot more fulfilling. Lucie was dragged hither and thither in search of the next vegan haunt, but oh my did we find some fantastic food- from vegan ramen and a cafe using Bonsoy (!!), to pizza and chocolate cake and soy icecream cookie sandwiches, we ate like queens (vegan queens that is. Quite a change for Frenchie Lucie!) I had such a good pizza in this tiny vegan cafe in southern Kyoto that I composed an epic poem to it entitled Oh, Pizza: You Are So Wonderful that I'm planning on turning into a chart-topping hit. Once Lucie flew off back to Hokkaido I was certainly reminded how poor my Japanese is, but the joy of vegan restaurants is that I can eat everything on the menu, so misunderstandings aren't so much a big deal.

Even though the weather was pleasantly warm compared to our winter climes, the public baths were still frequented frequently- there is nothing like a full body soak and scrub after a long day of temple viewing and vegan feasting. Just around the corner from our hostel was a little neon-lit sign beckoning you into an also little bathhouse, with little old men and ladies tottering in with full bath-ready regalia (a tub with a little stool, soaps, scrubbing devices, towels, robes) and steam pouring out the doors. After five months in Japan I felt like an old-hand at the whole bathhouse scenario, but this particular house put us through our paces. Firstly I tried to enter the male room, which shattered my carefully constructed air of Japan-I-got-this, and then while in the bathhouse itself I managed to fall over in a foamy pool (sudden drop in depth caught me unawares despite the very clear picture on the wall behind me to warn against such folly) and splash foam everywhere, and then after finally lowering ourselves into the super super hot pool (at least 4000 degrees, conservative estimate), we leapt back out again as there were ELECTRIC CURRENTS being passed through the water. Personally, I am not entirely sure what mild electrocution is good for. At least we provided great entertainment for the local ladies!

Speaking of local ladies, gosh did I see some elegant Japanese woman on the streets of Kyoto. I spent most of an afternoon 'kimono spotting'- I plunked myself down on a bridge leading into Gion, the historic geisha district, and held my camera at the ready for capturing kimono sightings. It was wonderful comparing the bubble-gum colours and bright smiles of the young girls sporting selfie-sticks and all the elegance of a baby giraffe with the muted grace of older women who had obviously been living in kimono all their lives. I certainly felt like a plod of a Westerner in my hiking boots and pants! Though that was nothing compared to how truly plod-like I felt when I saw a woman dressed as a geisha. Oh my.

Twas a clear starry night, and I was enjoying a contemplative stroll through the dusky backstreets of Gion. Gion is historically the geisha district, and now sports many 'gentlemen's clubs' where, as a Japan-savvy friend of mine put it, a business man can indulge in a beer poured by a pretty girl at the end of a hard day (and apparently nothing more than that). While the geisha community has severely depleted in size, there are still a few schools operating and training girls as they used to do. While I was wandering around and wondering about life as a geisha, from the shadow of a wooden doorway She appeared. Both myself and a Western guy who was walking just in front of me were transfixed- dropped jaw and all, we both just stopped in our tracks and reverently watched as the geisha floated on out of her door and faded into the dark of another alley. She made my bubbly kimono-sporting girls of the afternoon seem like silly fripperies, nothing more than bright flashes of silk colour to fade and be forgotten in the face of her quiet and ethereal grace... And leaving me to feel like the most ploddiest of plods in her wake. (No, no picture. Way too gobsmacked for that).

On my final morning in Kyoto I took myself up to Fushimi Inari-Taisha, a Shinto shrine famous for the thousands of vermilion torii gates leading up through forest to the summit of Mt Inari, 233m later. My experience over a sunny morning here seemed to sum up my time in Kyoto- while I made it to the shrine base really early, it was already thronging with tourists. Mostly Chinese with huge cameras (that stereotype is still very accurate), moving like huge schools of fish this way and that, I found myself increasingly frustrated with the chaos surrounding me. All the main temples in Kyoto are like this, all the time. I began trundling up through the torii gates anyway, trying in vain to snap a picture without anyone else in it, and also trying to withdraw from the hustle and bustle and find some peace. Suddenly there was a break in the torii passage, and I found a tiny dirt path snaking away up into the forest. Following this path I was immediately ensconced in the quiet of dense forest, and I felt the tension melt out of my shoulders and my mind begin to lighten. Dotted along this path were old, old statues, covered in moss but dappled in sunshine. I spent an hour or so meandering up to the summit along this route, and I saw no one else. This was Kyoto- step just a few streets to the side or take the small dirt path, and you'll find yourself alone with all the history and peace in the world.  

The longer I sit here in the tropical heat and overwhelming lushness of Cairns, the harder it is to cast my mind back to this time mere weeks ago, when I was booted-up and buckling-down to some serious touristing of my home for five months, the great nation of Japan. So armed with my diary from such wanderings and photos to jog my memory, I am finally going to get down my thoughts and stories- in a few parts. With the shear volume of photos to share (snap happy, me? Always) I've decided to split this into three entries- one for Tokyo, one for Kyoto, and one for my time in Hiroshima, the mountains of Okayama, and finally Osaka.
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Let the journey begin!

Tokyo, dear reader, is freakin huge. Absolutely, totally, unfathomably, huge. My time in the capital of Japan was brief but I tell you months would not be enough to uncover all of the treasures Tokyo is hiding. I was lucky enough to have another Lucie with me, one who not only speaks Japanese so well business men in bars fall to worshipping her, but who also spent a year living in Tokyo while at university- aka, my own personal hostess with the mostess. She whipped us around Tokyo in a whirlwind of sights and sounds, stopping for food and sleep only occasionally (I think our longest day clocked out at 13 hours out and about). Tokyo harbours so many different 'scenes'- from the manga/maid cafe central of Akihabara, to the pop culture overload that is Harajuku, or the bustling night-life of Shibuya, all the way to the silence of the quiet backstreets that our hostel was hiding in. After the oppression of the winter (yeah so turns out I am no snow bunny) it was absolutely delicious to be able to wander around in jeans and a t-shirt, enjoying the warmth of sun on my bare arms and only carrying a hoodie for when it cooled of an evening. Spring was just beginning to ramp up, with the countdown for the sakura (cherry blossom) opening in full swing (there are whole websites devoted to the forecasting of this yearly phenomenon) and the winter coats finally being tucked away.

Seasonal awareness is on a whole nother level in Japan. The four seasons are really distinct (not like the hot or slightly-less-hot of Cairns) and there is a great deal of ceremony involved with the change between them. The sakura blossom plays a big role in this- once the cherry blossoms are out, Spring really has sprung. Initially I was a bit taken aback by how important some little flowers on a tree were (they have 'rules' for cherry blossom viewing, there is scaffolding to protect the bigger trees so they can prepare their buds in peace), but a friend who has spent a lot of time in Japan was kind enough to explain it to this ignorant foreigner. Once the sakura are out it is a country-wide invitation to collect your nearest and dearest, a tarp, some bento boxes, and go and park yourself under a cherry tree for an afternoon (or so) of frivolity. You can take some sakura Pepsi, or sakura fries from McDonalds, or the delicious sakura mochi, and really get around the seasonal theme. Sakura season is a time to be outside enjoying the sunshine and the company of friends and family- and once I had this explained to me I was fully on board, being a girl who loves a good picnic.

Tokyo is a fascinating city, especially so to me as it doesn't feel like an Asian city, at all. Excepting the fact that you'll see very few Westerners around and about, a lot of the normal features of a big Asian city are completely absent in Tokyo- smoking is illegal on the streets, it is impeccably clean, the prevalence of hybrid cars means the traffic is incredibly quiet (and orderly), the sky is clear and the air quite fresh. I was also taken aback by the quiet backstreets- as soon as you cut off the main roads you'll find yourself lost in a warren of increasingly narrow streets, with old Japanese houses letting the time pass them by quite comfortably. Wood is a huge feature in Japanese domestic architecture, so you quickly understand the need for the myriad signs warning of fire risks- while wood makes for stunning houses, it sure does make for good fuel for fire too. This, and Japan's precarious perch on the edge of two tectonic plates (and therefore the risk of earthquakes and other geological funtimes), combined with the sheer scope of this city (have I mentioned how HUGE Tokyo is?!) makes for a worrying equation... As Lucie noted, it isn't if Tokyo gets hit by another earthquake, it is when.
This slightly sombre geological chat was taking place while we were thankfully out of Tokyo, and making our way through the hilly countryside to Fuji-Q Highland, a theme park boasting four world-record holding rollercoasters and stunning views of Mt Fuji. While Lucie and I were initially planning to hike Mt Fuji (because that isn't a serious undertaking at the best of times ie the height of summer) we settled instead for hurtling around at break-neck speeds and observing it from up-side down instead. We boarded a bus early in the morning, complete with a guide and flag to usher us to the entrance of the theme park, and then spent the day with Japanese teenagers on school holidays as 2 of only 4 Westerners in sight. A knack for ending up in the very front car of each coaster gave us all the thrills we could possibly have desired, and also exhausted us so much we needed a nap in the cafeteria mid-afternoon (and then a nap on the bus on the way home. And also a nap on the metro).

With the thrills of Fuji-Q still thrumming around my nerves, our time in Tokyo got a whole lot more emotional with a visit to the Mega Tokyo Pokemon Centre and also a Studio Ghibli store- oh Japan, you have given us some fantastic pop culture icons. Lucie and I also had an absolute ball in the uniquely Japanese photo booths- the cameras smooth your skin, widen your eyes, give your face a definite heart-shape- yes, they turn you into dolls. And you can edit them after, though there is a time limit and it gets pretty stressful when you're trying to put cat ears on in the perfect orientation and also add some more red to your (now) bow-shaped pout. The gaming houses in which these booths hide are absolutely everywhere, and always full of young guys in suits rocking their games. Lucie had to pull me away on multiple occasions from watching guys with superhuman speed play both halves of one of those step-on-the-arrow dance games or this other cool guitar-hero-meets-car-racing type phenomenon but I was just gobsmacked by their prowess. You also see business men coming home from work on the metro smashing out some serious hand-held game time- gaming in Japan is for everyone, any time!
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Tokyo felt almost too big to get a grasp of, especially in the short time I was there. Time kept ticking on though, so armed with matcha flavoured oreos (the powdered green tea that is everywhere in Japan)(did not tickle my taste buds) and all sorts of other convenience store goodies, a night bus was boarded and we napped our way to Kyoto. 

Konichiwa dearest readers from Japan, land of the rising sun- though up here in the wild climes of Hokkaido that sun is kinda hard to see through the bucketing snow. I've given up my barefoot meanderings (temporarily) to shove my feet into the thickest of socks and warmest of boots, and bunkered down for the winter in Niseko, the much-famed powder haven of northern Japan. 

Time, that slippery creature, is racing by as per usual- I've already been here for just on two months, and it is hard to believe that when I landed there was not a snowflake to be seen. We're now averaging 20cm of fresh snow to wake up to every morning, with the snow banks on the side of the road approaching head height and showing no sign of curbing their growth any time soon. I've quickly learnt my way around the different snows to be experienced- after another keen bean Aussie and myself went on a hike in what we thought was snow (but were actually informed was hail) a particularly fantastic Canuck lass took us in hand and gave us the low down. Turns out, small balls of ice that pelt into your jacket hood with considerable force- not snow. Icy sleety mess that stings the eyes and makes driving a pain- also not snow. I've marvelled at just how big snow flakes get and how incredibly slowly they can fall, seeming to deny laws of gravity and other such earthly rules. I've also learnt the hard lesson that once you're immersed in a few metres of those big, fat snow flakes that just drifted on down, getting back out again is nigh on impossible. Turns out, there is no way at all to get any purchase in metres of powder. I've done some fantastic whaling around in an attempt to claw my way to freedom on many occasions, normally with a snowboard still firmly attached to my feet.

Japan is a fascinating country, and while we live in a pretty strange foreigner-heavy bubble in the Niseko area I've made a real effort to engage with all the Japanese culture I can find. Luckily I've made a group of like-minded pals up for all sorts of adventures, and we've had a great time throwing ourselves at the sheer fun of experiencing life here (basically eating all the food and visiting all the onsens). I've found the Japanese language to be a bit of a brain-breaker, but the delight on the face of a local when you can make some pidgin sentences makes the effort and confusion totally worth while (I'm fully available for a why-are-there-so-many-Chinese-characters-that-aren't-used-for-their-original-meaning-or-pronunciation-also-why-three-writing-systems-why-not-follow-Korea's-example-and-sort-this-mess-out rant at any time. Talk to me long enough and you'll probably get one if you're asking for it or not). I'm very grateful to have some wonderful friends here who have spent years mastering Japanese- they have been invaluable shopping and eating companions, as even with a solid command of Japanese explaining 'vegan' here is quite the task. 

Yes, that segues into food. Glorious food. One of my absolute favourite topics- as my guests quickly realise, when they ask for my recommendations and leave half an hour later looking like they've stepped out of a wind tunnel and with a map completely covered in red pen circles. One of favourite parts of one of my favourite things (food)(in case there was any chance of you forgetting) is the complete chaotic joy of supermarkets in new countries. Oh, how the humble shopping trip becomes a thrilling adventure, fraught with having no idea what the bloody hell is going on. Sometime during my first shopping trip I bailed up Nat, a Japanese workmate, dragged her over to the miso aisle (there is an entire AISLE for miso) and demanded, in a somewhat flustered manner, what on Earth was going on with there being 4 billion types of miso and which ones, if any, could I imbibe in? With miso sorted I repeated the process with soy milk, and from there on all was pretty much gravy. The kanji for milk and meat and such non-Lucy friendly foods are the same as the Chinese characters, so I quickly figured out that not all soy milks are dairy free, not all tofu does not contain shrimp and bonito (fish flakes) lurk around every corner. My first few weeks here I felt super fresh and light- living off miso, home-made gyoza (dumplings) and soba noodles (buckwheat noodles that are incredibly delicious and oh so cheap). And then, dear readers, I discovered mochi. I have since composed songs about mochi, spontaneous haiku about mochi, gone out in blizzards just to find mochi, almost cried out of excitement when I discovered mochi in my cupboard that I had (inconceivably) forgotten about... What, might you ask, is this manna from the heavens?
Rice. Dumplings.
Nothing more, nothing less and yet these humble rice dumplings have become pretty much my reason for getting out of bed. I have currently limited myself to one mochi a day but that started today and I've already eaten four so I'd say that limitation thing is going swimmingly. There are so many types of this delicious treat- most filled with red bean paste, but also savoury mochi that I can toast in our little fish grill and wrap in seaweed, and dango, which are small mochi on a skewer and coated with some sort of paste/sauce, often sticky sweet soy that you will get all over your face but trust me the caring shall be zero. I've made particular friends with a groovy hipster snowboarder who sells homemade dango from the back of his van, and shows you pictures of him doing insane things on a snowboard while your sweet soy sauce warms. Living the dream. 

Eating out here has been a bit more of a challenge than the supermarket- dashi (fish sauce) pervades Japanese cooking and while the tofu here is incredible drowning it in fish sauce is not quite so much to my taste. However, favourite haunts have been acquired- from the snow-covered izakaya (Japanese tapas) to the crazy little Korean joint with DragonBallZ figurines, to the best deep-fried tofu in the world at Mina Mina and to the glorious hot chips from the food trucks in the centre of town, oh so alluring after days on the slopes. 

Did I say days on the slopes? With the temperature up the mountain hovering around -20 degrees these days, hours can become a bit of a stretch. That's one thing I'll definitely say about winter, especially after studiously avoiding it for several years- it is cold. Oh so very, face-freezingly, cold. As in so many other snowy lands though, the Japanese have their steamy way of countering the freeze- the onsen. Onsens are natural hot springs, and an integral part of the snow-life culture here. The Canuck of snow-education fame (her name is Maggie and she rocks) and I broke into the onsen world together, at a wonderful low-frills pool in the very bottom of Hirafu village. Onsens are completely nude and gender segregated- as we climbed down the steamy stairwell into a dark basement, completely naked and separated from our menfolk, we certainly questioned whether this was the start of a strange kinky horror movie but emerging into a wonderfully snowy outdoor pool soon steamed our worries away (though our hair kept freezing which was somewhat uncomfortable for the noggin- have since learnt to wrap hair in towels).

Along with all these adventures I am of course working, and have lucked out with an awesome crew to both work and live with. I've a wonderful roommate who's been living in Japan for a while now- her cultural insights have been invaluable (though the iodine gargle she gave me when I was sick was not so great) and her company priceless. Work is busy but fun, and my snow driving skills have come along from non-existent to pretty fly. Part of our training was ran by the Japanese police, and they had us slipping and sliding around on ice (intentionally) to learn how to counter such slipping and sliding, though after I did a full 360 and took out the majority of the traffic cones I'll admit I was none the wiser on how to counter such happenings. Life is, as life does, settling into a routine of riding, working, eating, soaking, sleeping, dancing, mochi, mochi, mochi... you get the idea. While I'm not loving having to layer up just to head out for a drink (remembering days spent on Cocos being barefoot in the pub certainly fill me with yearning), I am in love with the winter colours and the Japow (got all the lingo) even when I do get stuck up to my eyeballs and have to flail around like a walrus.