Pure DIY Japan Trip

Last year, I passed the JLPT N2 and started feeling a bit cocky, thinking I could travel independently in Japan — though I’d already been there four times, and my family had been twice, so we weren’t that eager. With the holiday still a ways off, we didn’t even discuss it. Then, as winter break approached and after several more debates — Europe was a no-go with the war on, the US wasn’t exactly friendly, and Southeast Asia had just had an incident — we were about to give up on a trip altogether. That’s when a friend asked if we’d consider Japan, and if we went, they’d like to join. My kid, who’s been obsessed with anime and manga the last couple of years, had been wanting to visit Akihabara, and my friend’s kid also wanted to explore Tokyo’s otaku scene. So, through a mix of coincidences, this Japan trip came together.

I’ve been to Japan four times: twice for company training, once on a company group tour, and once on a cruise. I knew the country fairly well, but a DIY trip still made me a bit uncertain, and my Japanese was only at a basic level. Still, the joy of travel is different for everyone — some love nature, some chase thrills, some like digging into history, some are foodies, and some enjoy experiencing local life. For me, travel is about exploring the unknown. “The world is so big, I want to see it.” I want to wander, eat, and just live. Isn’t life itself a journey of discovery? Set a rough route, figure out the details as you go, and expect the unexpected. Life’s like that too: hold onto your faith, stay optimistic, and there’s never just one answer. Whether the path is smooth or steep, each has its own scenery. You gain something from every situation, good or bad. Trying is always more exciting than not trying. With that mindset, I only researched the transportation routes and made a rough transport plan. The rest, I’d play by ear. And indeed, there were quite a few bumps along the way.

Soon, three families formed a little group. Since I was more familiar with Japan, I naturally became the “leader,” and suddenly the responsibility felt heavy. Balancing the needs of adults and kids, we settled on starting in Osaka and leaving from Tokyo. Originally, I wanted a deep dive around Osaka, but the other families had less time, and my family didn’t want to get too worn out. So, we streamlined it to Kyoto – Hakone – Tokyo. In Kyoto, we planned Kinkaku-ji, Nijo Castle, and Fushimi Inari Taisha. Hakone was all about hot springs and the volcanic crater, with a side view of Mount Fuji. Tokyo — I’d been several times and hardly had any must-sees, so it was mainly for the kids’ anime and manga fix, plus some shopping.

The plan was set in November. I thought we could take it easy, with over three months until the Spring Festival. But when I checked flights, prices were skyrocketing during the holiday, and even right before and after weren’t promising. We rushed to apply for visas through Ctrip. The process was pretty straightforward and fast. After a week of prepping and uploading documents, and once Ctrip confirmed everything was in order, we booked the flights right away, not even waiting for the embassy visa. Traveling during the Spring Festival peak was pointless — it would be packed everywhere — so we started on the last day of the holiday, aiming for a mini off-peak window. My friend, who booked just a few days later, paid 1.5 times what we did.

December was busy at work, and only at the end of the month did I research hotels. Some travel guides recommended Booking.com and Agoda, but I still preferred Ctrip. When I looked, hotel availability seemed tight. I picked a few backup options, thinking I could check Booking.com for more rooms, but the prices were shocking. I also glanced at Marriott; in the end, Ctrip offered the best value. Even with fewer choices, I booked everything on Ctrip.

For meals, I figured dining plans would be the trickiest, since timing during sightseeing is so unpredictable. Rushing to a highly-rated restaurant would just make things stressful. Besides, Japanese food is pretty consistent — I think many of those ratings are inflated by Chinese tourists. In my experience, aside from different types of cuisine, quality doesn’t vary much. A bowl of Matsuya ramen from a roadside joint for a few hundred yen is tasty, and most izakayas are about the same. Before leaving, I checked Dianping, but reservations seemed difficult, so I decided we’d pick places on the fly based on our daily schedule.

We booked a midday flight and comfortably got to Pudong Airport. But as soon as we landed at Kansai Airport, the travel mishaps began. I had set up the family’s entry QR codes at home, but at Kansai, I realized the problem: passengers have to go through immigration one by one, and the codes were only on my phone. I thought I’d applied for the whole family, but actually I hadn’t. Trying to pull up my wife’s and kid’s codes was a mess — the QR code guide hadn’t explained it clearly, and I’d underestimated it. So, I had them both fill out paper declaration forms under my guidance. But then another blunder: in the “Contact Address” field, I put a phone number, which was wrong. With the help of a Japanese volunteer lady, it dawned on me that it should be the hotel address. After a lot of back and forth, we finally got through immigration. At customs, a skinny Japanese man was waving a baton, shouting, “Declare now! Whether you have items or not, you must go through the declaration process!” Instinctively, I tried to ask about the QR code, but he snapped, “If you have a code, why are you here? Go over there! Rules are rules — follow them properly!” That left me a bit miffed; it felt like he was scolding us foreigners for not obeying the rules, giving us a hard time on purpose.

Just then, a Chinese student volunteer waved us over to the QR self-service area. I figured we needed Chinese-language help, so I asked him about the QR codes. With his help, we sorted out my wife’s and kid’s codes and finally escaped customs.

Leaving the airport, we followed the guide to the Haruka ticket counter. The guide at the entrance was a Taiwanese woman, and the ticket seller was also a young Taiwanese woman — instantly saving us a lot of hassle. Originally, the guide said there was a discounted Haruka + ICOCA package, but we were told it had been discontinued a year ago. The internet may be vast, but info still lags. You really have to experience it yourself. We bought tickets, went to the platform, and the Haruka glided in — yes, it was the Hello Kitty livery, but the train looked quite old. Inside, it had a retro feel, and it wasn’t crowded. This route clearly wasn’t what it used to be. But the conductor left a deep impression. He was short and stocky, in standard uniform with glasses, constantly patrolling the carriages, and at the end of every walk-through, he’d turn and bow to everyone — straight out of Galaxy Express 999.

Along the way, the houses and roads were almost empty of people. Truly a nation that doesn’t like to be out in the open. At Kyoto Station, we took the Karasuma Line one stop, but there was no elevator at the exit. Faced with a long stairway, I lugged our 28-inch suitcase up. When we reached the hotel, the friends who’d arrived earlier said, “Why’d you take the subway? It’s so close from Kyoto Station — you could walk.” Later, I realized they were right. Kyoto is really not big; a subway stop that’s barely half a stop away is only a few minutes on foot.

The hotel had a small public bath. I tried it out — a few Japanese guests and, of course, some Chinese. There was even an outdoor area, and you could hear Japanese women chatting in the next bath, separated only by a bamboo wall. Very Japanese. The lobby had comic books; I grabbed a Conan volume but only managed two chapters before we had to go.

The next day, heading to Kinkaku-ji, while waiting in the lobby, the hotel manager came over and asked where we were going. I said Kinkaku-ji, and he immediately pulled out a hotel sightseeing map and directed us to Kyoto Station to catch a certain bus. I thought, great, because my original route had us taking the subway to Kitaoji Station then a bus; if we were taking a bus anyway, why not just skip the subway? Turns out, Kyoto’s bus network is incredibly extensive — you can reach every attraction by bus. No wonder the subway, with its two lines crossing, felt so useless; here the bus was so much more practical.

I should mention: some Chinese navigation apps are unreliable in Japan, some phones have compatibility issues, and certain phone services don’t work well. Abroad, Google and Apple really shine. One of our groupmates had studied in Australia and had all the international apps ready. After that, I gave up on my Amap and pre-planned city routes, relying on him for navigation and restaurant searches. Also, China Mobile’s international roaming? I found it couldn’t make calls at all — only mobile data worked, and that came with separate charges. That really messed things up and caused a lot of inconvenience.

Kinkaku-ji is basically a gold-leaf-covered building, and the whole area is tiny. If you’re quick, half an hour is enough. It’s the villa of General Ashikaga Yoshimitsu from Ikkyū-san. Near the exit, there were fortune-telling slips, even an electronic coin-operated slip machine — truly unbeatable. Making money off superstition is universal, I guess. While waiting at the souvenir shop, I saw a young Japanese couple about to draw slips, so locals believe in it too.

After Kinkaku-ji, with time to spare, we squeezed in Nishiki Market for a stroll and a quick bite lunch. Again, we took the bus. At the bus stop, an elderly volunteer lady rushed over with a laminated card showing Romanized names of attractions accessible by bus. We pointed to where we wanted to go, and she guided us to the right queue.

Kyoto’s buses are clearly designed with tourists in mind, yet they still primarily serve locals. For example, there’s no Chinese or Korean, and only some English inside. If you don’t know the etiquette, you’ll feel out of place. First, you board from the rear and exit from the front. Flat fare: 230 yen, paid by cash or card when getting off, with only the driver watching — no conductor. The aisle from the back to the front should stay clear, especially when disembarking. And the area near the driver’s door is a no-standing zone. Break any of these rules, and the driver will brusquely scold you. Once, as the bus was stopping, I stepped a little into that zone before it fully halted, and the driver immediately tapped me. A groupmate tried to tap his transport card without checking the balance, and when it failed, the driver anxiously grabbed him; he had to pay in coins, even the 10 yen shortfall — he ended up overpaying 50 yen. Another time, a Western couple tried to board from the front, and the driver promptly stopped them. No wonder; Japanese society is all about following rules and not causing trouble for others. Every delay you cause means he can’t keep his schedule. I noticed that bus stops have printed timetables, not real-time digital displays like ours, yet buses arrive almost exactly on time. Impressive.

Japanese society can feel impersonal, but inside the bus, priority seats are often left empty even when free. When the bus stops, it tilts toward the curb to make boarding easier, then levels out when departing. Especially when a person with a disability gets off, they can press the button by their seat to alert the driver, who will patiently wait as they slowly rise, hobble to the door, step off, and walk away before closing the doors. That’s very human. I think it’s still about rules — they design humane needs into the rules, making the rules themselves humane.

A short walk from the bus stop, we arrived at Nishiki Market. A huge entrance arch, street after street of delicious food. But we quickly hit a snag: a sign at the entrance said no eating while walking. Totally different from Chinese snack streets. A few steps in, we found a tempura shop. The server first asked: eat-in or take-out? Some items couldn’t be eaten in, some couldn’t be taken out. We chose a few skewers to go, but there was nowhere to eat. We ended up huddled in a corner, then got scolded by the neighboring shop for eating right outside their store. The tempura shop then pointed us to a designated standing spot, but with people streaming by, it was a hassle, so we wolfed it down.

Soon, we spotted a grilled-meat place — a branch of the one our hotel recommended the night before, which had been full. We ate in, and the meat was indeed good. A bit further, a fried chicken joint had no seating, so we specifically asked if we could stand nearby and eat. Got the okay, and finally, we could enjoy it in peace on a side path. Nearby, a few Japanese girls and a young couple were also eating and chatting. Clearly, this market has its local fans. But as internet chatter says, prices are on the high side — it’s starting to cater more to foreigners.

A small surprise: on the way out of the market toward the JR station, we passed by the Kamogawa River. The wide, gentle river, banks sloping down without levees, with a few people sitting or half-lying on the grass, reading or relaxing. The tranquility amid the city was lovely.

A quick JR ride took us to Fushimi Inari Taisha. From the station, we walked through a snack street and entered through a side gate to the main hall, guarded by two foxes. A few people were praying inside, probably Japanese. We rested near the main hall and the giant torii, then followed signs to the Senbon Torii. Sure enough, a dense maze of torii gates lined two covered walkways — one in, one out. The pillars were inscribed with names of individuals or companies who donated them. Occasionally, there were gaps, and the ground showed traces of previous gates, perhaps from sponsors who stopped contributing. Along the path, a few young people in traditional Japanese clothing strolled by; this place seemed like a routine spot for locals too.

Soon, we’d seen the shrine. Even the head shrine wasn’t large, so other shrines must be even smaller. With time to spare, we stopped at a tea house near the snack street, ordered a bowl of matcha with a small sweet, and called it an experience. One in our group wanted hot water. I knew Japanese restaurants usually don’t provide it, but this was a tea shop, and we spotted an electric kettle on the counter, so we thought it might be possible. The staff agreed, but when we took the cup to the counter, they refused. Later, the young woman from the counter came over specifically to explain that hot water was not allowed — despite us having ordered nine drinks there.

Dinner, found by our Aussie friend on Google, was a nearby course meal. Two freshly grilled slices of beef, a raw egg, a bowl of white rice — 2,500 yen. Drinks extra, 700–2,000 yen. But the ratings were high. The shop was new, run by a young Japanese guy in a wooden house. U-shaped counter seating surrounded the prep area, each seat with a portable gas stove. The owner grilled the beef right in front of you: a dab of beef fat, two slices cooked separately, sprinkled with their special seasoning. You cracked the raw egg into your bowl, dipped the beef, ate it with rice, then mixed the leftover egg into the rice. That was it — the entire menu. Only one ingredient, one method. Business was good; people kept trickling in. The flavor was excellent. On the way back, we entered the wrong JR station by mistake, but when we exited, no fare was deducted — that was thoughtful.

The next morning, we visited Nijo Castle, again by bus. The youngsters slept in, so we left late, which led to a cascade of delays and mishaps, making our arrival in Hakone quite a scramble — more on that later.

Nijo Castle felt much richer than the previous attractions. It was the shogun’s residence before audiences with the emperor, expanded over time. The moats, walls, and gates were impressive. Before entering the Ninomaru Palace, we passed the Karamon Gate, supposedly modeled after Tang Dynasty architecture. While taking photos, a Japanese man told two tourists, “This gate is called the Chinese Gate, but in reality, such a gate doesn’t exist in China.” The tourists replied, “Really? That’s strange.” The man said, “Yes, why it’s called that, I’m not sure.” I really wanted to correct him, but I held back, thinking it might be rude. Besides, if he asked why China’s glorious Tang buildings are all gone while Japan preserved a Tang-style gate so well, how could I explain? I felt a bit ashamed.

PS: After returning, I checked on Zhihu: the Karamon indeed drew on Tang style but with Japanese craftsmen’s own ideas, a blend of Tang and Japanese styles.

When we finished, it was already past noon. The kids chose tonkatsu at Isetan in Kyoto Station, so we bused back. Arriving a bit late, the place was popular, with six or seven groups ahead of us. We waited a while; it was nearly two by the time we ate. Then it started snowing outside. Someone suggested checking out the observation deck. We found a rooftop garden, with a view over all of Kyoto, and a continuous escalator all the way down to ground level at Kyoto Station. The station’s interior design was quite unique, worth a photo.

Lingering too long, we realized it was getting late. We rushed to buy Sanyo Shinkansen tickets to Odawara. Since ICOCA can’t be refunded in Tokyo, we scrambled to find a place to refund the cards, wasting more time. At the ticket machine, to avoid communication trouble, I chose the wrong queue — the machine that takes credit cards, but I had only a magnetic stripe card, which didn’t work. In the end, we had to pay cash. Japan is so detailed and complicated; one mistake and you start over. We just had to push through, which was hard to adapt to.

With all the delays, we only got tickets for the 4:30 PM Hikari. The earlier Kodama would’ve gotten there around the same time but cost more, so we settled for the later one. We had to go back to the hotel for our stored luggage. On the way, the snow suddenly intensified — a luggage-hauling adventure in a snow shower, quite an experience. The snow didn’t last long and didn’t stick. At bustling Kyoto Station, we wanted to sit in Starbucks, but there were no seats. Worried about getting the platform wrong, our group scanned in early, arriving 30 minutes ahead. We ended up shivering in the cold, while the Japanese people only showed up right before departure. Clearly, they’re much better at time management.

When the train arrived, we sank into the warm, comfortable carriages and relaxed. Then another mishap: as soon as we got off at Odawara, a groupmate realized he’d left his bag on the train. This was trouble. His wallet and papers were with him, but the bag had an iPad and some food. We asked station staff, who told us to go to the Tokyo Station Lost and Found. They handed us two slips with a map, hours, and phone number, basically saying the rest was up to us. He was anxious, feeling the staff were just following a script without really helping. He asked if they could call for him; I said, from my experience, once they tell you the procedure, they won’t do anything extra. I told him not to worry, just follow the instructions. By then, the phone service hours on the slip were over, so calling would be useless anyway. Knowing we still had to get to our mountain hotel in Hakone, I had to set his concern aside for the moment. Outside, we found the Hakone Tozan Line ticket office and bought tickets — no set departure time, just board any train. It was past seven, time to find food. The kids wanted to Google nearby good eats, but I suggested we eat quickly and head up the mountain, especially with luggage. We split up, some had ramen, others tonkatsu.

Our hotel was in Gora. Based on the JR website, I thought it was a 40-minute ride on the Tozan Line. Actually, it was far more complex. The route search sometimes showed Gora, sometimes Hakone-Yumoto. I finally figured it out: first, a regular train to Hakone-Yumoto, then switch platforms for the Tozan Line. That line is fascinating — a zigzag railway, like an old green train in China, with four cars and engines at both ends. Five intermediate stations are switchback points; at each, the train reverses direction, the front becomes the back, and it climbs. After six such reversals, we reached Gora at 9:30 PM, and the conductor announced it was the last train. Off the train, our map led us to a steep slope. Groupmates groaned; I could only tell them to tough it out. In the hotel reviews, I’d noticed comments about this slope. I’d wanted to call the hotel in advance, but China Mobile was useless. While waiting for tonkatsu at noon, I tried Ctrip’s app to reach them, but the signal was bad, the environment noisy — I could hear them, but they couldn’t hear me. When I called again, no response.

In the dark, we trudged up for seven or eight minutes until a metal gate blocked the path. A sign said the road was open only until 6 PM. Meanwhile, the groupmate who’d lost his bag was getting emotional. He’d been annoyed at his son for waking up late that morning, affecting everyone; now the son had been careless with the bag and seemed indifferent, which lit the father’s fuse. With the rough journey, he had a mini outburst and gave his son a scolding. He’d been stewing over the lost bag all along, feeling the staff weren’t helpful and worrying about whether he’d get it back in Tokyo. I’d been trying to help — checking official sites, explaining Japanese customs — while he kept asking if this or that approach would work, which took up a lot of my energy and messed with my planning. Later, on the zigzag train, I found a way to email JR from their website, but they required a Japanese phone number, so I gave the hotel’s.

I told myself, delays are also rest. With the main road closed, we had to find a smaller path. As if the heavens were testing us, the path turned into a staircase — a nighttime workout, lugging a 28-inch and a 25-inch suitcase up a mountain.

Finally, we reached the hotel. Someone was still at the desk, got us checked in, and we settled in after ten. The front desk said the private bath hours were 4 PM–11 PM and 6:30 AM–10 AM, so no soak that night. We’d have to try in the morning.

Next morning, I tried the private bath. It was a genuine hot spring. The hotel sat on a hillside, and the outdoor pool overlooked nature. Very soothing, but you can’t soak too long. Relaxing in a yukata on the massage chair in the lounge, watching TV, was its own bliss.

Breakfast was Western, nothing special taste-wise, but the dining room’s floor-to-ceiling windows offered an unbeatable mountain view — that was the real treat.

After breakfast, we set out for Owakudani. We boarded at Koen-Kami Station. Here, another gripe about Japanese: one kanji has so many readings. Earlier, I’d focused on Gora Station as key and looked up its pronunciation. Our Aussie friend said starting from Koen-Kami was better. I foolishly assumed it was read “Koen-jo” and even used that to confirm directions at the hotel front desk. They understood we were foreigners and didn’t correct me. When I got to the station, I saw the romanization: “Koen-Kami.” Another brain fart. “Kami” has multiple readings — “ue,” “jo,” “kami,” “uwa”; in “agaru,” it’s “a”; in “nobori,” it’s “nobo,” and so on. So troublesome.

At Koen-Kami, we realized we needed the cable car. The steel cable pulls the train up the slope; the carriage floor is tilted, with stepped interiors. Interesting. The train climbed, flanked by trees and flowers. Winter now, but spring would be gorgeous.

The cable car ended at Sounzan Station, then we had to switch to a ropeway to Owakudani. The ropeway ticket was separate. It’s a loop with several stops, going back to Sounzan. The gondola was huge, fitting a dozen people, with glass all around and a grated floor. When it crossed the volcanic crater, surrounded by plumes of steam, it felt like being in a steamer basket — haha. To the right, we saw Mount Fuji, its snowy peak capped by clouds, at a perfect distance. The full view from top to bottom was clear; from this angle, Fuji is majestic. At the top, they sell black eggs, but I’d had them before, so we passed.

Another mishap: the summit was crowded, and I got separated from my family. Thanks to China Mobile, no contact. Luckily, we found each other at the station.

Back at Owakudani Station, we realized the ropeway direction was wrong. Turned out, due to maintenance those days, from Owakudani to Togendai we had to take a replacement bus. We debated skipping it, but I’m glad we didn’t. Togendai is the boarding point for the Lake Ashi sightseeing pirate ships. We didn’t ride, but we ate at the station restaurant with a view of the lake and ships. Very nice.

Fed and rested, we took the bus down, retrieved our luggage, and went to Odawara, again on that twisty train. I finally understood: getting from Odawara to Owakudani requires four different modes of transport, with transfers. First, a regular train to Hakone-Yumoto; second, the zigzag switchback train; third, the cable car up the slope; fourth, the ropeway. Complicated, but a unique experience.

Nothing special in Odawara. Dinner was charcoal-grilled meat. Ordering plate by plate, each with just a few slices; our table kept the staff busy changing plates the most. Taste was okay. Nine people ate over 50,000 yen to feel full. The next morning, we considered visiting Hojo Soun’s castle by the station, but with the crowd, it wasn’t convenient, so we skipped it.

Then came Tokyo, mostly the kids’ anime and manga fix. I won’t go into detail. We spent half a day in Akihabara, saw Ginza’s night lights, checked out Tokyo Dome, and visited Hachiko in Shibuya.

The trip ended with a smooth Skyliner ride to Narita. At the airport, I wanted to refund our Suica cards and got another lesson. The airport exits were lined with card-purchasing machines. We queued at several only to find they didn’t handle refunds. I even asked a South Asian staff member, but they were no help. Finally, a Japanese worker told us we had to use the pink machine for refunds — and the only one was broken, so we’d have to walk 10 minutes to another location. Whether deliberate or coincidental, with check-in looming, we gave up.

Looking back, my broken Japanese somehow scraped us through. As a foreigner, I’d delved into Japanese society, traveled the way locals might, interacted face-to-face with all sorts of Japanese people, and observed them. That gave me a deep sense of what it’s really like, not just as a packaged tourist.

Japan is clean and tidy, people are polite, and many service workers do their jobs well — volunteers at sights and transport hubs try their best to help, hotels offer even better service. Yet, at restaurants, tea shops, and among train staff, there’s a clear sense of propriety and distance while serving. More often, it feels formulaic, an overemphasis on doing things by the book that comes off alienating, even cold. The Japanese seem inherently afraid of disorder. They’ve become accustomed to pre-set orders and rules, demanding everyone be self-disciplined, which creates a strict social environment. The customs officer worried about chaos and could even be rude. At the Toyoko Inn in Odawara (a Japanese budget hotel chain), when the chubby front desk team leader saw our large group, he got flustered and became overly strict, instructing us like schoolchildren to follow his every step for check-in. At a convenience store in Suidobashi, Tokyo, when I twice asked the grumpy female cashier to recharge my transport card, she showed clear impatience and finally questioned why I didn’t use the self-service machine. Without understanding this, living in Japan wouldn’t be that pleasant. I also understood the cautious, watch-then-act demeanor of the Japanese I met, and that sense of detachment.

A few more points. One: ordering food in Japan is a real pain. Dish names can differ from menu to menu, and they love using loanwords in katakana, leaving you clueless. Without pictures or a Chinese menu, you really don’t know what you’re ordering. Two: abroad, you have to use local apps for things to work smoothly. Three: while Japanese generally return lost items (yes, the bag was recovered without issue), there are those who slyly take advantage. For instance, a young male cashier at the airport convenience store, maybe knowing our Suica cards were unredeemable and preying on foreigners, quietly pocketed a friend’s card when he tried to use up the balance. When I went back to ask, he played innocent, searching around theatrically. Four: there are many foreign workers in Japan — a northeastern Chinese at the airport, Taiwanese at Haruka, Southeast Asians in restaurants, Indians and Koreans at departures, and plenty of Chinese servers in Ginza. Clearly, labor is in short supply.