The Day I Found My Pace in Japan
Learning to slow down, figure things out, and reconnect with wonder—one quiet train ride at a time.
I woke up in the comfortable surroundings of the Hilton Fukuoka Seahawk, refreshed after one of the best nights of sleep I've had in ages. I'd slept in until nearly 10am, grateful for a late 2pm checkout since my next check-in in Itoshima wasn't until 4pm. Today marked the start of a new travel chapter—officially saying goodbye to taxis and luxury shortcuts. It was finally time to fully embrace Japan’s public transportation, mastering buses, trains, and whatever else came my way.
Navigating an unfamiliar transit system can be daunting, even though it sounds straightforward. But instead of succumbing to the temptation of a $70 taxi ride, I chose the challenge of figuring things out myself. This day symbolized something bigger: slowing down, learning new rhythms, and embracing the uncertainties of travel.
Packing up took nearly two hours, reminiscent of my backpacking days—organizing what goes where, deciding what's essential, and balancing weight. Initially, I walked in the wrong direction (of course), but soon enough found my bus stop. I got lucky, correctly boarding through the back door and exiting from the front. My transportation card, thoughtfully set up by my mom, worked flawlessly.
The train ride that followed wasn't a flashy Shinkansen, just a simple commuter line, but it provided a genuine glimpse into everyday Japanese life. I sat quietly, watching landscapes transition from urban to countryside as we approached Itoshima.
Itoshima itself is fairly developed, but I'd intentionally booked accommodations in its quieter outskirts. When I stepped off the train, carrying two hefty backpacks, the station was just a bare platform—no signage, no buildings. As I walked toward my guesthouse, a path to the beach caught my attention, and curiosity got the better of me.
The beach was stunningly empty. It was just me, the breeze, and an endless stretch of peaceful shoreline. This moment challenged my preconceived notions of Japan—it felt serene, expansive, and undiscovered.
When I finally reached the guesthouse, there was the familiar awkwardness of approaching a stranger's home, hoping it was the correct place. But the moment I opened the door, warmth welcomed me. My host was cooking something wonderful, filling the house with enticing aromas. Her granddaughter was studying nearby. They offered me water and guided me upstairs.
My room was on the second floor—a bright corner room with wide windows offering beautiful mountain views. Later that evening, I'd open those windows, letting the fresh air flow through while I worked. It felt deeply peaceful and personal, as if I'd discovered a hidden retreat.
No one at the guesthouse spoke English, but another guest did—Peter, a game developer working outside. After brief introductions, it was soon time for dinner.
With no nearby restaurants, I ventured back to the station, determined to master the train. My first choice—a highly-rated izakaya—turned out to be closed despite Google's assurance. Accepting the unpredictability of rural schedules, I returned to a small grilled meat restaurant near the station.
Inside, there were no tourists, just a handful of locals and a menu entirely in Japanese. With Google Translate in hand, I navigated the offerings—bear, boar, deer—settling on beef, chicken, fried soba noodles, a mysterious soup, and grilled rice balls wrapped in seaweed. It was delicious and memorable.
When the owner heard I was from Hawaii, his face lit up, and he enthusiastically recounted his own trip to the islands 20 years earlier. This connection made the evening special. The entire feast cost around $22, and I left feeling deeply satisfied, even purchasing a dog treat from their butcher section as a small thank-you gift for my hosts.
On the return trip, I boarded the wrong train but managed to correct myself quickly. By the time I arrived back, night had enveloped the town in darkness. I found my way to the beach again, this time under moonlight, savoring the solitude and gentle rhythm of waves.
Back in my room, I opened the windows wide, letting the cool air accompany me as I worked until sleep called. It wasn't perfect because everything went smoothly, but perfect because I'd faced and conquered the day's small uncertainties.
Day two complete—the adventure continues.