Two weeks Across Japan - A Day Between Journey

The journey to Nagoya began with a train I had been looking forward to experiencing again.

We were travelling on the Kintetsu Hinotori.

As the sleek red train approached the platform, I felt an unexpected surge of recognition. Seeing it brought back memories of our previous trip, when I had first encountered it through a recommendation from a friend.

At the time, he had insisted that if I ever travelled between Osaka and Nagoya, I should try the Hinotori at least once.

"It costs a little more," he had said, "but the experience is worth it."

Taking his advice, my partner and I booked the Premium Seats.

We boarded with modest expectations.

After all, a train seat was still just a train seat.

Or so we thought.

The Premium Car was located at the front of the train, and the moment we stepped inside, we realised this was something quite different from the ordinary limited express services we were used to.

The seats felt more like individual pods than train seats. Large, spacious, and carefully separated from one another, they reminded me more of an airline business-class cabin than a railway carriage. The generous recline, legroom, and privacy transformed what was simply a journey between two cities into part of the travel experience itself.

There was even a lounge-style carriage where passengers could leave their seats and relax on comfortable benches during the trip.

I remembered being genuinely surprised.

The recommendation had turned out to be entirely justified.

This time, however, we had chosen the regular seats.

The difference in price made sense given the length of the journey, and we knew we would still arrive in Nagoya all the same.

The standard seats were comfortable—far more comfortable than many train seats I have experienced elsewhere—and there was certainly nothing to complain about.

Yet memories can be unfair.

Having experienced the Premium Car before, it was impossible not to compare the two.

The regular seats were good.

The Premium Seats had simply spoiled us.

As the train accelerated smoothly out of Osaka, I found myself smiling at the memory. Sometimes the value of a previous experience is not measured by how luxurious it was at the time, but by how vividly you remember it years later.

The Hinotori had become one of those memories.

On a previous trip, Nagoya had left a lasting impression for reasons that had little to do with the city itself.

One memory in particular stood out: the frantic search for the JR station when every minute mattered, and a tightly planned itinerary threatened to unravel before the day had even properly begun.

Unlike most days of travel, this was one that depended entirely on timing. Every train, every bus, every connection had to align precisely. I had mapped it out in detail: Osaka to Nagoya, Nagoya to Nakatsugawa Station, the bus to Magome, the walk along the Nakasendo Trail to Tsumago, another bus to Nagiso Station, and then the return journey through Nagoya back to Osaka.

There was very little room for deviation.

A missed train or delayed connection would not simply cause inconvenience. It would collapse the structure of the entire day.

In my mind, the itinerary needed to function like an orchestra — each movement beginning exactly as the previous one ended.

The first movement almost failed before it had even begun.

After arriving in Nagoya, we needed to locate the JR station to catch our next train. It sounded simple enough. We were already at Nagoya Station.

Or so we thought.

Instead, we found ourselves wandering through a maze of interconnected buildings, passageways, and shopping complexes, unable to determine where the JR platforms actually were.

We eventually found it, but by then we had already lost precious time. That delay would later catch up with us on the Nakasando Trail, where we were forced to move faster than we had planned in order to stay on schedule.

Learning from that experience, on this trip we decided to stay a night in Nagoya. It was a small adjustment, but an important one. It gave us time to explore the city at a slower pace, and more importantly, it gave us flexibility for the following day’s walk.

There were a few places that interested my partner and me, but they were quite far from where we were staying. Getting there would require some planning—working out the train routes, navigating Nagoya's railway system, and making sure we arrived before closing time.

After considering the effort involved, we decided to leave those places for another trip.

Today would be a slower day.

Instead, we would stay around Nagoya Station and explore the shopping areas nearby. Everyone seemed quite happy with that plan.

Lunch, however, proved far more difficult to decide.

Nobody seemed entirely sure what they wanted to eat.

After finding one of Nagoya Station's four Gourmet Streets—Ekimen-dori—we slowly made our way along the narrow corridor, studying the displays outside each restaurant. Every menu seemed to appeal to someone different, which only made the decision harder.

Eventually, we gave up trying to agree on a single place and split into smaller groups.

Three of us returned to a restaurant serving stewed diced pork noodles that had caught our attention earlier. By the time we got back, a queue had already formed outside.

That was both good news and bad news.

The good news was that a queue usually suggested the food was worth waiting for. The bad news was that we now had to join it.

Fortunately, the line moved quickly.

All three of us ordered the dry version of the noodles.

The wait turned out to be worthwhile.

After lunch, we regrouped and spent the afternoon wandering through the shopping complexes around the station. Everyone was mindful that we would be walking the Nakasendo Trail the following day. Whatever we bought, we would need to carry with us.

Large purchases were quietly ruled out.

As we wandered, I kept noticing signs for station lockers and occasionally passed rows of the lockers themselves. Slowly, an idea began to form.

Perhaps I could leave some of my belongings here.

After the walk, I would be returning through Nagoya before heading back to Osaka. Since I planned to buy my train ticket on the day, I would not be tied to a strict schedule and should have enough time to retrieve anything I left behind.

The thought immediately reminded me of an ongoing debate we had been having throughout the trip.

The discussion first arose when I was considering storing luggage at a station locker if the hotel in Osaka could not keep it for me. Fortunately, the hotel had agreed to hold our bags, making the question less urgent.

Still, none of us could agree on the answer.

How long could luggage actually remain in a station locker?

A few hours? Overnight? Several days?

Some were convinced that lockers automatically unlocked after the first night, leaving the contents exposed for anyone to take. That never sounded quite right to me, but I was not confident enough to say they were wrong.

So I decided to find out.

I walked over to one of the locker areas and carefully read the information displayed there.

The answer was surprisingly straightforward.

Items could remain in the locker for up to three consecutive days. After that, station staff would remove them and store them separately for up to thirty days, allowing the owner to reclaim them later.

The mystery, at least, was finally solved.

This discovery made wandering through the shops much more enjoyable.

I could now buy things without worrying about carrying them on the Nakasendo walk the next day.

Since our rooms were ready, we decided to return to the hotel to check in and rest for a while. We agreed that we would head out again later in the afternoon.

We did not stay in the hotel for long.

My partner and I had our sights set on a dessert at Pierre Marcolini. Their seasonal apricot parfait sounded particularly inviting.

I had come across the name Pierre Marcolini years earlier while researching what souvenirs to bring back from Brussels. His chocolates were frequently recommended. I had tried the chocolates before, but never the desserts.

This seemed like the perfect opportunity.

The café closed at 7 p.m., with last orders at 6:30, so we made our way there while the rest of the group chose to stay behind.

It was nice to have some time with just the two of us.

As we sat together enjoying the dessert, I realised that this was closer to the kind of trip I had imagined when I first planned the journey. Not rushing between destinations. Not coordinating six people's schedules. Just the two of us, sharing a table, enjoying something we wanted to try, with nowhere else we needed to be.

Looking back, it was probably the first truly unhurried moment we had shared on this trip.

Afterwards, we returned to the hotel.

There was laundry to do, and I wanted to reorganise my backpack before the walk the next day. I tried to make it as light as possible, removing anything that was not essential. The rest would be stored in a station locker.

At around eight o'clock, I headed out again by myself.

I had made a wrong assumption.

For some reason, I had convinced myself that most of the shops stayed open until ten. Instead, I discovered that many had already closed by eight.

Suddenly, I had no destination.

So I walked.

At first, I wandered through the streets around the hotel. Then one street became another, and another after that. Before long, I realised I had travelled much farther than intended.

When I eventually checked Google Maps, it froze.

For a moment, I considered stopping to sort it out.

Then I decided not to.

Instead, I continued walking.

I started paying attention to the city itself. The shape of the streets. The direction of the railway lines. Familiar buildings. Signboards. Small landmarks that would normally go unnoticed when following a map.

It felt strangely familiar.

This was the kind of wandering I used to do when travelling alone. No destination. No schedule. No pressure to be anywhere. Just following whatever caught my attention and trusting that eventually I would find my way back.

There was a freedom in that uncertainty.

After about an hour of walking, I somehow found myself heading in the right direction. Whether through instinct, observation, or simple luck, I could not say.

But eventually the hotel appeared ahead of me.

And with that, my small solo adventure came quietly to an end.

The following day would be very different.

The Nakasendo Trail was waiting.