Things That Shocked Me on My First Trip to Japan (From an Indian Traveler)

So, when I got my first job after graduation in 2017, I started saving to visit the country of my dreams. The plan was simple. A week in Tokyo first, pulling all-nighters to photograph the futuristic city. Then Fukushima, to volunteer with animals. Ending with a whirlwind through Osaka, Kyoto, and Hiroshima.

I did exactly that. And while my mind was blown just as I’d imagined, the Japan in my scrapbook and the country I landed in were two pretty different places. Coming from Mumbai, a city that’s fueled by cacophonies, negotiation and improvisation, I ended up in a country that runs on the opposite of all three. The culture shocks started the second I landed at Narita Airport, and they never fully stopped.

These experiences are mine, seen through the lens of one wide-eyed Indian girl, fresh off the plane. You may not blink at half of them, and might reel at things I didn’t notice.

1. The Silence on a Packed Train

(Photo: Author)

Taking the train from Narita to Tokyo was a breeze. Getting to Shinjuku Station and changing lines to reach my Airbnb was not. After I somehow managed to board the right train, massive suitcase in tow, it was so packed I couldn’t reach a handrail.

And I’d never heard a crowd that quiet. A hundred people pressed together, and not one voice. Nobody took a call, nobody ate, not a sip of water, not so much as music bleeding from earphones. There were a few conversations, but barely above a whisper, and the catchy jingle of the recorded announcement was the noisiest sound.

The Mumbai local, as the trains are called back home, is the opposite in every way: the shouting of vendors, the singing of buskers, the arguments of lovers, whole friendships struck up over food shared between strangers. In Japan, the train is a place to sit in silence and doomscroll. For weeks I consciously monitored my own breathing to make sure I wasn’t being too loud.

And yet, for all that packed-in closeness, the trains were spotless. No litter, no scuff of old food, no stickiness on the poles, seats I could happily sit on in my finest whites.

They ran to the minute, too, so precisely that a thirty-second delay earned an apology. It made me realize that in Japan, silence and order are a collective courtesy, with everyone making the space better for one another.

2. High-Tech Heated Throne of Royalty

Everyone raves about the heated seats and the spaceship controls of Japanese toilets; few mention the one button you should never press. I will deny this if anyone asks, but the first time I used a public toilet in Japan, I pressed the big red emergency button (非常ボタン). A sweet old security woman came rushing in to my aid.

Lesson learned, and after getting over the embarrassment, I became a full convert to Japanese toilets. I couldn’t stop raving on video calls to friends back home about the bidet settings, the dryer, the deodorizer, and the little row of icons, one of which played music for privacy. Fuko, my lovely Airbnb host in Tokyo, even kept a separate pair of slippers just for the bathroom, as is tradition in Japan.

And when you come from a country where a working public toilet is a gamble, the Japanese version feels absurdly civilized. In the depths of a snowy Fukushima winter, that heated seat at six in the morning was pure bliss.

3. Concept of Omotenashi

That Japan had unbelievable customer service wasn’t news to me. What got me was learning that it’s a whole philosophy, deliberate enough to have its own name. Omotenashi: wholehearted hospitality, given without expecting anything back. And when you visit Japan for the first time, you feel it everywhere.

Here, tipping isn’t a thing. So none of the customer service is for a reward.

On every konbini run, I got used to hearing “irasshaimase” (“welcome”) as I walked in. My change was handed back in two hands with a little bow. It was how people worked, from the hotel front desk to the woman restocking onigiri at the corner store.

This exceptional customer service made going back home harder. In India, a shopkeeper is either your chatty best friend or your worthy opponent in a haggling war you’re doomed to lose.

4. Vending Machines, Absolutely Everywhere

Sapporo, Hokkaido (Photo: Author)

Climb a strenuous hike for the views, and odds are a vending machine will have beaten you to the top. The everyday ones hide in plain sight on nearly every residential street, while the fancier ones sell everything from sake to meat, each in their own spot, peppered around every city.

Sapporo, Hokkaido (Photo: Author)

Japan’s vending machines became a real draw for my later trips. Every time I left, I couldn’t stop thinking about the rainbow Boss coffee cans. I still dream about the ice-cold Sapporo beer we cracked open at 3 a.m. on a park bench with my hostel mates, and the can of corn soup that warmed my hands through my gloves in Hokkaido.

5. Being the Only Brown Woman in Town

Inawashiro, Fukushima (Photo: Author)

Walking around big Japanese cities, I barely stood out. But in rural Fukushima, it was obvious I was the first Indian woman most locals had met in person. Wandering through the towering maples of Inawashiro, I barely crossed paths with anyone. However, when I walked into the local burger joint or ice cream shop, I did get some stares. Being that visible took real getting used to.

People approached shyly to ask where I was from. Kids tried out a line or two of English. And more than once, a man’s polite conversation included a question about my blood type, a culture shock all its own. I later learned that in Japan, every blood type comes with personality traits attached, a bit like a star sign, right down to people using it to size up dating compatibility.

6. A Cash Country, of All Places

(Photo: Pixta)

I expected Japan to be the most cashless place on earth. Robots, bullet trains, toilets smarter than my phone, surely nobody here still counted out coins? Wrong. Plenty of ramen shops, temples, little ojisan-and-obasan spots, and rural buses took cash and nothing else.

India’s scannable UPI payments had made me lazy. Japan put me right back to hoarding hundred-yen coins in a little Daiso purse. There’s a lesson in there somewhere: the country living in the future had decided some things were just fine left in the past.

7. No Bad Meals

(Photo: Autor) Left: T’s Tantan – Right: Senjou Vegan Gyoza

The happiest shock of all is that bad meals basically don’t exist here. A 700 yen bowl of veggie ramen, eaten standing at a station counter in the three minutes before your train, is as insanely good as something three times the price at a sit-down place. Garlicky broth, noodles with real bite, heaps of fresh vegetables—I’m drooling just thinking about it. Chefs here don’t phone it in because it’s cheap and fast.

This principle is everywhere once you notice it. Cucumber-avocado sushi and natto for under 200 yen a plate, delivered by a little robot or a conveyor. A 300 yen draft beer that holds its own against the izakaya’s 700 yen one. Whether you’re splurging or scraping by fresh out of college, the food in Japan will not let you down.

8. Being Vegetarian Is Harder Than It Looks

For all that incredible food that exists in Japan, there’s a catch, and for me it was a big one. As a vegetarian, I learned early on that dashi, a stock made from bonito (dried fish), hides in everything, from miso soup to a plain-looking salad dressing.

A dish can look completely vegetarian-friendly and still have dashi or fish oil. Those first weeks meant a lot of pointing, a lot of guessing, and a lot of plain rice. The good news is that it’s getting easier every year, with more labeled options and more veg and vegan spots opening across the cities. In rural areas, though, a translation card will be a lifesaver.

9. Onsen Etiquette

Nothing in my life prepared me for the moment I was told I couldn’t wear a swimsuit to soak in the hot springs, that I’d have to strip fully naked in a room of strangers. The first time, I turned right around and went back to my Airbnb. It took local friends who couldn’t stop raving about the onsen to convince me to try again.

I went back, was handed a towel the size of a napkin, and stood there certain everyone was looking. Nobody was. That’s the first thing you learn about onsen etiquette: no one cares, because everyone’s in the same boat, or.. bath. You rinse off thoroughly at the little seated showers first, step in clean, keep your tiny towel out of the water, and ease down into the heat.

By month two, it had become a highlight of my time in Japan. There’s nothing like sinking into a glorious outdoor bath in a Fukushima winter, snow falling, cold air on your face and the warmth reaching all the way to your bones. Whatever self-consciousness I’d carried, dissolved somewhere in the rising steam. Push through that early discomfort. It’s absolutely worth it. (And if you’re still shy, keep in mind that you can book hotels with a private onsen, and can often rent for one your exclusive use for a set time slot – known as kashikiri ofuro/貸切風呂.)

10. Everything Closes Early

(Photo: Author)

Mumbai doesn’t sleep, and neither does its food. At 2 a.m. there’s always a stall lit up, a buttery snack toasting on a griddle, a chaiwallah with a queue. So rural Japan taught me a hard lesson my first week. If you haven’t eaten by 8 p.m., you might not be eating at all. Restaurants shut shop by 9, the whole town tucked in while I stood outside a locked izakaya with a grumbling tummy, rethinking my life choices.

Even konbini, reliable as they are, aren’t a substitute for a hot dinner, especially as a vegetarian. So I learned to plan around it, to eat when the town ate, and to make late-night treks to the konbini for sinful desserts afterward.

11. Seasons Are A Culture

(Photo: Author)

Back home, we mark our years by festivals. Japan marks them by seasons. Spring is for pastel-pink parties under the sakura, whole families picnicking to catch the blossoms before they fall. Summer brings Tanabata, bamboo branches weighed down with paper wishes. Autumn gives everything a maple-leaf makeover, right down to the limited-edition snacks lining the konbini shelves. Going beyond marketing, the practice of focusing on seasons is to encourage a habit of noticing what’s fleeting and celebrating it before it’s gone.

12. Take Your Trash Home

When you inhale a snack on the street in Japan, be forewarned: you may have absolutely nowhere to put the wrapper. Recycling bins for cans and bottles sit next to most vending machines, and 7-Eleven and the other konbini keep them by the door. Aside from those, for a used tissue, the stick from your dango, a chocolate wrapper, there’s just no public bin.

So you pocket it and carry it around all day, a small growing wad of trash, until you’re back at your hotel. And yet, somehow, the streets are spotless, because it’s a country carrying its own garbage home. I grew up watching paper chai cups sail out of moving train and bus windows, so a place where millions of people pocket their trash instead rewired my brain.

My tip? Carry a small plastic bag inside your bag at all times, just for the rubbish.

13. True Kindness

I’ve been lost in Japan more often than I can count, but the first time was in the small town of Inawashiro in Fukushima, looking for the station with a dead phone.

As I did the universal dance of turning a map in circles, an old man stopped to ask if I was okay. I pointed to the station on the map, and instead of rattling off directions, he motioned for me to follow. He walked me there, ten minutes out of his way, and left me at the entrance with a small bow, gone before I could stammer out my third stunned arigatou gozaimasu (thank you very much).

Some version of this happened again and again over the years. People led the way, chased me to return a dropped umbrella, and a grandmother in the countryside waved me in for tea and a red bean paste dessert.

Back in 2017, these moments rarely ended in small talk or where-are-you-from questions. In recent years I’ve even made friends that way. But it’s that first kind, no-strings version I think about most fondly.

14. Lack of Small Talk

In India, a stranger will have your name, your hometown, your marital status, and your monthly salary right after your first hello. It’s nosy, yet endearingly so. Japan functions the other way. You can sit at a counter beside somebody for an hour, slurping your ramen without a word exchanged. No prying, no chit-chat. For introverts, it’s perfect. There’s a real freedom in being left to yourself, with nothing expected of you.

The exception to this is the Japanese bar scene. Squeeze onto a four-seat counter in Tokyo’s Golden Gai and the salaryman next to you will happily practice his English, let you throw a jumble of broken Japanese right back, and buy you a beer to seal the friendship.

15. One Trip Is Never Enough

(Photo: Author)

I flew home after that first trip convinced I’d figured Japan out. I had not. The country is best revealed through several trips, with every visit peeling back layers. The etiquette I thought I’d mastered turned out to have exceptions within exceptions. Even the language, the more of it I learned, the more I understood how much was being said in what went unspoken. I’ve been back more times than I can count since that first trip 2017, and I know the place far better now but I also know I’ll never fully know it. That, honestly, is why I keep going back.