[This article is related to some other stories from my trip to Japan back in 2024, which was part of a 8-months solo travel that took me to Bali, New-Zealand and Australia. Find all the stories on the Journal.]

I’ve only got three days left in Japan. I wake up to this thought, and it sticks with me for a while, leaving a strange imprint in its wake. Leaving Japan is not only leaving Japan, it’s closing a chapter opened last August (we’re now in April), it’s wrapping up this journey, it’s accepting that the experience is coming to an end. I’m not sure I’m ready for that, but it doesn’t really matter: I have no choice.

From the tram that takes me to the pier, I discover some other facets of Hiroshima: charming little districts dotted with shops, cafés, and wine bars. If anything, it makes me love the city even more. I continue to soak up all those pretty images, with the ardor of the last few times. Goodbyes have begun, and as a perfectly melodramatic person, I experience this moment of awareness with all the due gravity. I have the right playlist and all.

Once in front of the boat to Miyajima, I however decide not to spoil the pleasure of this ultimate stop. This place still has treasures to offer me, and it’s on me to make the best of them.

The crossing is swift. You can glimpse the torii immersed in water, and the island’s green, rolling hills. I’m lucky, the weather’s fine. Warm, even. Blame it on the 27kg I’m carting around, probably (fortunately I didn’t know it, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to cope psychologically, haha). The village of Miyajima is criss-crossed by a long, narrow, bustling street, shaded by large triangles of light canvas stretched between the rooftops.

I immediately like the vibe, and I’ll like it even more once I stop bumping into random people with my huge bags. I drop them off at the guest house, a little way back from the hustle and bustle, where an adorable lady welcomes me with a small map of the area and a bunch of good advice.

Back in the bright and quiet street, I feel lifted by the blazing sun and details that never cease to amaze me: the red pagoda overlooking the neighborhood, the colored crates of the grocery shop on the corner, the noren slowly waving in the breeze.

I start a long stroll, first walking by the torii of Itsukushima Shrine, which at this hour bathes in the turquoise stretch of the Seto Sea. The view is like a postcard, and it’s easy to see why the place attracts so many people. As in Nara, little deer nonchalantly wander all around. I continue my tour towards Momijidani Park, among trees and quiet paths, where I hardly meet anyone. All of a sudden, everything seems to be a privilege graciously granted to my curious and vagabond soul: the abundant pink flowers against the sky, the small yellow lanterns lining a staircase, the dusty old restaurant through which I catch glimpses of life. 

I arrive at Daishō-in Temple, recommended by my host. There is so much to see in Japan that the idea of visiting yet another shrine can leave you feeling lazy. But this one was definitely worth it! Leaning against the forest, bathed in the aura of the surrounding trees, it unfurls its large, immobile pavilions, which you visit in a soft, silent half-light (well, except when you find yourself there at the same time as Germans commenting on everything out loud). You discover it through staircases and passageways, hidden rooms unveiling themselves by chance, like the one with its ceiling of golden lanterns, which caught my eye and which I spent ten minutes trying to photograph properly (tried only, though).

On the winding path lined with the 500 small Buddhas, I was lucky enough to witness the bushes being watered. The sprayed mist floated around stones and shrubs with the grace of a snake, and its strangeness, too.

I have lunch in a local café, serving drinks in delightfully kitsch old cups. Everything is done to please me. After checking into my room, I set off again, determined to finally discover that shopping street for real and try, like everyone else, the Momiji Manjû. It’s a small cake shaped like a maple leaf and filled with red bean paste, or other stuff (like chocolate). Do you really wonder which one I chose? I pick the fried version, because it’s way better hot and greasy.

Without any transition, I buy a coffee jelly sundae, since I’ve noticed that coffee jelly thing a few times. I definitely cannot leave Japan without trying it. Conclusion: nothing beats good old coffee ice cream with crunchy beans. But I ate it on the low wall facing the beach and the torii, spotting from the corner of my eye my neighbor being harassed by a deer highly interested in his ice cream, and it was a really nice moment.

I wait here for the sun to set. With the tide out now, you can walk around the torii. I wander through the sticky, muddy sand, full of grey shells. I observe the big red door from every angle. I’m not in a rush. That’s all I’m here for: to witness the daylight disappear, and with it this Friday. I try not to take too many photos, and of course, I don’t succeed. 

I return in the blue hour, the deserted streets simply lit by large round red lanterns. A bike passes by with a metallic whistle. The silence. 

For the first time during my stay, I have a private room. A real Japanese room, with tatami floors, a futon, a small table, and a zaisu. I even have a kettle and some green tea. I spend my evening by the light of a small porcelain lamp, listening to music on the loudspeaker. The ultimate luxury.

However, I wake up around 3am and cannot fall back asleep. Like, not at all. Here I am watching again, not the death but the birth of the day. The outlines of my room growing lighter almost imperceptibly, the folds of the sheets as voluptuous as in a painting.

I’ve only got two days left in Japan. This time, I start the journey back for good.   

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Music soundtrack of the journey