As the dawn breaks, I set out for Himeji, Hyogo Prefecture, my ultimate destination: a resplendent castle, the most visited in all of Japan and a UNESCO World Heritage Site. I had previously visited this castle back in 2012, but the main building was undergoing maintenance work at the time, and I was unable to catch a glimpse of its splendour. Instead, the cladding around the castle featured an image of its future state, once the five-year renovation of its roof and walls was finally complete. Today, I get to finally see the future for myself.

Leaving Himeji Station, I stroll along Otemae Street, a kilometre-long street running between the station and the castle. This charming street is lined with shops and restaurants, and the trees are neatly arranged on either side, their branches reaching skyward in a wild, untamed fashion. The empty roads are absent of cars, providing an unobstructed view of Himeji Castle, which rests atop a distant hill like a sentinel of the past.

Himeji Castle has earned itself the nickname “White Heron Castle,” due to its supposed resemblance to a bird taking flight, and because it is strikingly white. For the last 400 years, Himeji Castle has survived bombing during World War II and a multitude of devastating earthquakes and typhoons. It remains one of Japan’s best examples of 17th-century castle architecture.

The castle and its sprawling network of 83 buildings and gardens stretch across a vast expanse of 233 hectares. Even though I have visited before, the sheer size of the castle, along with the impeccably maintained grounds and gardens, is nothing short of breathtaking. It is a veritable kingdom of history and beauty, a realm that leaves one feeling utterly overwhelmed by its grandeur.

I bid farewell to the castle and embark on a journey by train to Osaka. From there, I transfer to a local line train bound for Ise City, Mie Prefecture. My journey is a long and tedious one, with my train halting at each of the 73 stations along the way, incurring a hefty cost and consuming three gruelling hours. At almost every station, the train is met with silence, as not a soul disembarks or boards. It is a complete waste of time. Halfway into my journey, the train is severed in two, and I am moved to the front carriages by the staff. As my truncated train pulls away, the express train bound for Ise City arrives at the platform, leaving me to rue my misfortune and wonder why this was not disclosed to me earlier.

At last, I arrive at Ise Station, where I must transfer to a local line that operates on a limited schedule, running just once an hour. This train will bring me closer to my ultimate destination. Time is of the essence as I have only six minutes to make the switch, but as if to mock my efforts, my ticket gets swallowed up by the ticket machine at the transfer gate. A loud, flashing red notification blares out the ominous words: ‘Ticket jam! Ticket jam!’ It seems that my luck has taken a turn for the worse.

The staff member takes an age going through each and every intricate mechanism within the machine with a pair of tweezers, trying to find my lost ticket. He won’t wave me through because he can’t confirm that I have paid up to this station, I am stuck waiting for what feels like an eternity, and just as time seems to stand still, I miss my connecting train. After about ten minutes, I receive my ticket and the only solace I take is the fact that I got to see the immense inner workings of a Japanese ticket machine.

With no train for the next hour, I opt to walk the roughly eight kilometres to my destination, braving the ghostly chill in the air as I cross the Isuzu River. Eventually, I arrive at a place known by three different names: Futamiokitama Shrine, Meoto-iwa, and the Wedded Rocks. The rocks sit placidly in the water, with the small torii gate perched atop the larger rock like a crown. The gentle waves of Ise Bay add to the serene atmosphere of the scene.

The larger of the two rocks is said to represent the husband, while the smaller rock represents the wife. These two rocks are connected by a massive, thick rope, which, according to Shintoism, symbolises the unity of marriage between the two most important gods in Japanese mythology, Izanagi and Izanami. On a clear day, one can see the majestic Mount Fuji on the distant horizon, its frosted peaks a breathtaking sight above the graceful rocks below. However, my luck continues to abandon me as Mount Fuji is nowhere to be seen today. Perhaps I’ll see it later.

Seemingly unrelated to the story of Meoto-iwa, I also notice that sculptures of frogs are incredibly popular here – in fact, they seem to be absolutely everywhere!

The frogs here are a rarity, believed to have the power to grant specific wishes – particularly those related to returning home or recovering lost items. The Japanese word for ‘return’ or ‘go home’ is ‘kaeru’, which also happens to be the word for ‘frog’. It seems the presence of all these frog statues is simply because of a play on words. If only I had had one at the station with my lost ticket.

After all of my recent travels, I am completely exhausted and decide to take a break in Tokyo to reconnect with some old friends and participate in the New Year’s celebrations. I board a slow local train heading north to Nagoya, before switching to the high-speed bullet train bound for Tokyo.

From the train, the graceful, snow-capped beauty of Mount Fuji greets me.