Sometimes the best detours come with no gloves, no plans, and a rail pass.
Words & Images Harley Brown Video & Images Riah Jaye
Sometimes the best detours come with no gloves, no plans, and a rail pass.
Words & Images Harley Brown
That’s five stores we’ve gone into now, and still no gloves. Not one pair! Not even a lonely left-handed one. Our icy palms turn up to the sky when we’re told again, "Spring soon, no more gloves." But we’re not complaining—we’re in Japan! This time, we touch down in the Kansai region.
Warm carriage, freezing platform, hot-tea-water-bottle.
You’ve seen it on screens: pinball cities of flashing lights, whirling sounds, and delicious street food on every corner. They’re intense. They’re beautiful. But you’ve heard all that before. This time in Japan, we know we need to escape the big cities like Tokyo, Osaka, and Nagoya, avoid the tourist trail and discover the real Japan. Our first stop? Snagging a 5-day Kintetsu Rail Pass in Nagoya (which is just a shinkansen hop from Tokyo, under two hours, and right on the route to Kyoto or Osaka). This pass gives us unlimited trips into rural Kansai. We might (dare I say it?) actually get lost.
Next stop: Toba Pokemon Gym!
On a mission to find the best soba.
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“Are we lost?” Riah asks, and I laugh. We’re definitely lost. The gondola takes us up the mountain almost a kilometre, the chairlift climbs a few hundred metres more. We waddle like giddy penguins down snowy paths, giggling and hurling snowballs with reckless abandon. It’s cold. We don’t realise it yet, but we’re right on cue for the seasonal switch. Winter begins to loosen its grip, the air shifts, and the first whispers of spring start creeping in. But not quite yet. With no gloves in sight, it’s time to warm up.
Mt Gozaisho putting on a show for us.
Thanks to some friendly locals, we remember where we parked the chairlift. Soon we’re bobbing along gently, passing groups of skiers laughing and chatting below, no language barrier for their giddiness after a run. That’s when I realise: there’s not an Aussie accent to be heard, nor a tourist in sight. It seems Mt Gozaisho is loved by locals, and a hidden gem for newcomers. Back down on solid ground, the gondola doors open to a little more warmth, but not quite enough. We’re not worried though, because ten minutes down the road is AQUAIGUNIS, home to steaming hot onsens (a hot spring bathhouse) and a balmy indoor strawberry farm.
Caught between a ski lift and a soft place.
Quality control: one for the basket, two for me.
Inside a greenhouse reading a glorious 25°C, we’ve got 40 minutes to dance through aisles and stuff our faces. Twenty-two varieties of strawberries under one roof, and not enough room here to explain what a foodie Riah is. To keep it short, she can dissect sweetness levels and subtle tartness while I try not to look like a toddler with juice dribbling down my chin… We’re in heaven. It’s the perfect antidote to our Pingu cosplay.
We thank the buzzing bumblebee angels for delivering the goods while we indulge in the fruits of their labour with gluttonous glee.
Some places feel like they were built just to catch the snow.
A little bit of magic between arrivals and departures.
Quiet Kiyomizu-dera temple looking over the hustle 'n' bustle.
We flash that fancy railway pass again and head to our next stop: Oharai-Machi and Okage Yokocho. It feels like stepping into an Edo-period dream. Narrow cobblestone streets line up with traditional shops and eateries. If you ever find yourself here, try the roasted chestnuts, the gooey teriyaki prawns, and don’t even think about skipping the mochi at Akafuku (this isn’t that frozen blasphemy from your local supermarket; sit on tatami mats with a hot tea and do it properly). This pocket of old Japan is a living, breathing love letter to the past, bustling with regional visitors snapping selfies with skewers, pottering down from the grand Ise Jingu shrine just up the road.
Changing, like the seasons. The place feels as if it's alive.
Ise Jingu is a shining example of sustainable architecture. Yet, every twenty years, it’s torn down and rebuilt in a sacred ritual that’s been going on for over 1,300 years. Shikinen Sengu. At its core is an unwavering dedication to preserving continuity. It’s not about the structure; it’s about the process. Changing, like the seasons. The place feels as if it's alive. Like it’s been here long before us and will be here long after—no matter how many rebuilds it gets. We walk among centuries-old cypress trees. The air smells like fresh earth, moss, and maybe just a whisper of salt from the nearby sea.
We’re back on the train, bound for the coastal town of Toba. Life here seems slow and quiet, but the real action is underwater, where fearless female freedivers collect shellfish, seaweed, and urchins by hand. Most of these Ama divers are elderly women, some over 80, still practising a 3,000-year-old tradition that’s earned them the title ‘Mermaids of Mie’.
Dockside denim and seaweed steam—just another day in Shima Peninsula.
A short ferry whisks us to Tōshijima island, the air thick with salt and seaweed. We’re immediately invited to watch a team blanching sea lettuce right on the pier in a bubbling cauldron.
It’s a perfect place to get blissfully lost.
The port town looks like a Wes Anderson set: rust nibbles away at everything, sun-bleached octopus traps line the walkways, and fishing nets hang like sails from the handlebars of tiny Honda scooters. It’s a perfect place to get blissfully lost. We wander into a narrow alley and find ourselves invited into a tiny loungeroom restaurant.
Ronku Restaurant (ロンク食堂) is run by two sisters who’ve been serving meals for over 54 years. Every inch of the place is covered in memorabilia—photos, signatures from celebrity diners (we don’t get asked for ours), and enough ocean-themed kitsch to fill a museum. Even a blowfish in a top hat. They serve us fish three ways—sashimi, tempura, and steamed—all from local waters. It feels less like a restaurant and more like visiting long-lost [Japanese] grandparents.
Sea-worn bouys drying (or forgetten?) in the late afternoon sun.
Welcomed like we were long overdue for a visit.
Keeping it real with one small room and a single table to share.
Back on the mainland, we ride one of Japan’s oldest cable cars up Mt Yoshino in Central Nara and arrive at Kinpusen-ji Temple. My jaw actually drops. One of Japan’s largest wooden structures, it rises like a cathedral of trees. A caretaker explains the pillars are actual tree trunks, creating the illusion of a forest inside. Shugendo monks come here to reconnect with the mountain where they train in meditation and ritual purification. Spiritual rebirth. We’re just here for the shortcut, hoping a quick visit might spark a little soul reset. And in a way, it does. We see cherry blossoms starting to bloom and the snow thinning across the mountains.
A 16th century castle standing the tests of time.
Some places shrink you just enough to expand you.
Maybe we manifest it, or maybe it’s just good timing, but the clouds part and the sun blasts through. Spring is officially here, and we’ve arrived in Asuka, Japan’s original capital. One final bucket list tick: renting bikes and making fools of ourselves. We zip past rice fields and quiet homes, stopping to chat with farmers prepping for planting season, grabbing coffee from a quiet café, and tossing coins at Asuka Temple for good luck.
Rice fields by pedal power.
And then, just when we think it can’t get any better, we board the Hogwarts Express. Or at least, it feels that way; this beautiful train is known officially as the Sightseeing Limited Express 'Blue Symphony'. Our final train ride back to the big smoke is a plush, low-lit carriage with polished wood ceilings, gold details, and velvet chairs. “It’s like a cocktail bar,” I say. Moments later, as if summoned, a paddle of sake samples appears.
“Kanpai!” We clink glasses as the countryside blurs past.
“Kanpai!” We clink glasses as the countryside blurs past.
What better way to wrap up a trip somewhere new? Rural Kansai is a must, especially if you’re already swinging through Osaka or Kyoto. We feel recharged and ready to devour the city. The sake glasses are empty, cherry blossoms frame the horizon in place of snowy peaks, and we have a new area to recommend to our Japan-loving friends back home—and so do you!
Sake flights and dried plum desserts proving train food ain't like plane food.
Kintetsu Railway
Kintetsu runs the largest private rail network in Japan, linking cities like Osaka, Kyoto, Nara and Nagoya with the smaller towns and quiet pockets in between. It’s a local favourite for getting around Kansai—fast, easy, and surprisingly scenic in parts. Whether you’re hopping between cities or chasing hidden gems, Kintetsu makes the journey feel just as rewarding as the destination.
get in the know Napping at work in Japan is actually a sign of dedication; apparently it proves that you're working yourself to exhaustion for the company. And yet, when we try that, we're sent straight to HR.
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