Alright, so people are always talking about "kota tua di Jepang," you know, these old Japanese towns. I totally bought into the hype. I'd seen all those gorgeous photos online – ancient wooden houses, quiet stone-paved streets, maybe a geisha flitting by if you're lucky. That was the dream, man. I imagined myself just soaking it all in, feeling all zen and historical.
So, I started planning. And when I say planning, I mean I went deep. This wasn't just gonna be a quick hop to Kyoto and Nara like everyone else. Nosiree. I had this whole spreadsheet, color-coded and everything, with names of these super obscure villages, places that supposedly tourists hadn't ruined yet. I was determined to find the "real" Japan, whatever that meant. I even tried to pick up a few basic Japanese phrases, thinking I'd have these amazing, authentic interactions. Silly me.
My Grand Tour Takes a Detour
Then, life happened. About a week before I was supposed to fly out, my boyfriend at the time – let's just call him "Dave" (definitely not his real name, and he wasn't even remotely Japanese, which made the whole situation even more ridiculous in hindsight) – decided it was the perfect moment to announce he "needed space" and that our relationship was "too serious." Yeah, great timing, Dave. Super helpful.
So, there I was. Non-refundable tickets. All those meticulously planned routes through charming old towns. And a freshly broken heart. I thought about canceling, I really did. But then I thought, screw it. I'm going. Maybe getting away was exactly what I needed. Or maybe I was just being stubborn. Probably a bit of both.
My first "kota tua" experience was... weird. I think it was Kanazawa. Beautiful place, don't get me wrong. The samurai district, the gardens, all stunning. But I was just wandering around in a daze. Every picturesque little bridge we were supposed to romantically cross, every cozy-looking tea house we were supposed to share sweets in, just felt like a punch to the gut. I was taking pictures, but I wasn't really seeing anything. My "practice" of exploring these ancient spots felt more like a ghost haunting them.
I tried to stick to my itinerary. I went to Takayama, Shirakawa-go… all the places on my list.
- Walked the old streets.
- Ate the local food (mostly alone, feeling super awkward).
- Visited the temples and shrines.
But everything was colored by this big, gloomy cloud of "Dave." Pathetic, I know. I’d be looking at some thousand-year-old cedar tree and all I could think was, "Dave would have probably complained about the walk here."
What I Actually Found in Those Old Towns
Then, something kinda shifted. I was in this smaller town, can't even remember the name now, completely off the main tourist track. My phone had died, I'd missed a bus, and I was feeling thoroughly miserable and lost. I stumbled into this tiny, run-down looking noodle shop. No English menu, no tourists, just a couple of locals and an old lady behind the counter who looked at me like I was an alien.
I managed to order something by pointing and making eating gestures. It was probably the most awkward meal of my life. But the noodles were amazing. And the old lady, she just kept smiling this gentle, knowing smile. We didn't exchange a single understandable word, but there was this weird moment of connection. It sounds cheesy, but it's true.
After that, my "practice" changed a bit. I stopped trying so hard to find that "perfect" historical experience or mourn what the trip was "supposed" to be. I just… wandered. I got lost a lot. I ate strange things. I sat in empty temples and just listened to the wind. The "kota tua" weren't a romantic backdrop anymore. They were just places. Places where people lived, and worked, and had been doing so for centuries. And places where I was slowly, very slowly, starting to feel a tiny bit less broken.
So, when I think about "kota tua di Jepang" now, I don't just see the pretty pictures. I remember feeling lost, and lonely, and then surprisingly okay. It wasn't the trip I planned. Not even close. But it was my trip. My messy, slightly heartbreaking, unexpectedly real tour of old Japan. And honestly, those are the memories that stick. The perfectly preserved streets are nice, but remembering that old lady's smile in that tiny noodle shop? That's the good stuff. That's the real record of my journey.
