The First Hour After Checking Into the Hotel

There is a strange moment that happens on almost every trip to Japan.

You finally reach the hotel.

Your bags hit the floor. You close the door behind you.

And for the first time since leaving home, you are completely still.

The journey to get there has already felt like an entire day.

You made it through the airport. You survived the flight. You went through immigration and customs. You figured out where you needed to go, found your transportation, dragged your luggage through unfamiliar streets or stations, and eventually made it to your hotel.

By the time you finally get inside, you’re exhausted.

It’s usually late afternoon or evening.

You’re tired.

You’re probably jet-lagged.

Your body has no idea what time it is.

The bed looks incredible. The shower is calling your name.

The easiest thing in the world would be to shut the curtains, take a hot shower, climb into bed and call it a night.

I’ve been there. More than once.

But there’s something inside you that won’t let you stay there.

Because you’re in Japan.

You actually made it.

And somehow, despite the exhaustion, you have to go outside.

You don’t need a plan. You don’t need a reservation. You don’t even need to go very far.

Sometimes it’s nothing more than walking around the neighborhood and finding a FamilyMart to grab something to eat.

Maybe you walk toward the nearest train station.

Maybe you find a small restaurant.

Maybe you just wander down the street for twenty minutes before turning around and heading back to the hotel.

It doesn’t matter.

Because something happens when you step outside.

The realization finally catches up with you.

You’re in Japan.

The train moves past you.

A group of locals is heading home from work.

Someone else is walking toward a restaurant for dinner.

Cars move through the intersection.

A bicycle passes by.

A convenience store glows on the corner.

Neon signs light up the buildings around you.

And suddenly, the entire journey becomes real.

All those months of planning.

All the money you saved.

All the flights you researched.

All the maps you looked at.

All the videos you watched.

All the days you spent thinking about what it would be like.

It has led to this. You’re standing on a street in Japan. Not watching somebody else’s trip.

Not looking at a photograph. Not imagining what it might feel like. You’re actually there.

I’ve felt that strange energy every time I’ve returned.

Even after traveling to Japan multiple times, that first walk outside the hotel still carries something special.

The country hasn’t changed because I arrived.

Tokyo isn’t suddenly more exciting because I’m walking down the sidewalk.

The trains aren’t running for me.

The restaurants aren’t waiting for me.

The people around me have no idea that this is a huge moment in my life.

And that’s what makes it so incredible.

The city is simply continuing.

People are going to work. People are meeting friends. People are buying dinner.

Trains are arriving and leaving. Life is happening.

And for a little while, you’re lucky enough to be inside of it.

That’s the feeling I remember.

Standing there tired, probably still trying to figure out exactly what time it was, wondering how I was going to stay awake long enough to make it through the evening.

But I didn’t care.

I wanted to see it.

I wanted to feel it.

I wanted to take that first walk and let Japan wash over me.

Maybe I would get something from FamilyMart.

Maybe I’d find a small restaurant and order something I had never tried.

Maybe I’d simply walk until my feet told me it was time to go back.

The destination didn’t matter.

Being there did.

Because the first hour after checking into your hotel isn’t really about sightseeing.

It’s about crossing a line.

Before that moment, Japan is something you’re traveling toward.

After that moment, Japan is something you’re experiencing.

The exhaustion doesn’t disappear.

The jet lag doesn’t magically go away.

You might still have no idea what tomorrow’s train route looks like.

But none of that matters.

You made it.

You stepped outside.

You took that first breath of the evening air and looked around at a place you had dreamed about seeing.

And somewhere between the neon lights, the passing trains, the sound of people heading home and the glow of a convenience store on the corner, it finally hits you:

You’re not dreaming about Japan anymore.

You’re in it.

And there is no better way to begin a trip.