Kamakura, Japan

Get out of Tokyo.

It was unexpected advice for my first visit to Japan. Surely, the density of the world’s largest metropolitan area offered enough to fill five days of exploration. The schedule was packed: Sushi, tea ceremonies, kabuki theater.

It was 1998. In the months leading up to this vacation, I had been working closely with company colleagues in the Tokyo office. Terasaki-san, a marketing manager, had become a proxy for the Japanese tourist bureau. He was passionate about his country and sharing it with visitors.

Terasaki-san insisted that it would be worth an hour on the train to visit a town called Kamakura. Information on what I would see there was sparse. Fodor’s and the other guidebooks only mentioned Daibutsu, a “big buddha,” and some other temples. The worldwide web was in its infancy, and most of what I could find was in Japanese, of course, without instant translation.

I was anxious. Terasaki-san was making an investment in me. Culturally, he would lose face if I ignored the suggestion. I needed to go.

On day four of my trip, I took a morning train to North Kamakura station. I followed the small group of tourists headed straight to Engaku-ji Buddhist temple, right across from the station. Massive pagodas and gates greeted us.

Inertia then took me to the next temple, Meigetsu-in. More of a garden setting, the blooms and bamboo were visually appealing.

So far, I wasn’t feeling like this was worth the extra effort.

Outside Meigetsu-in was a tourist map in English. It showed a hiking path to Kotoku-in, home of the Daibutsu. This felt like a good direction. I headed straight there.

At Kotoku-in, the magic unfolded. Daibutsu indeed. A “great” Amida Buddha. Nearly 800 years old. So big you can go inside. Buddha’s giant slippers hang on the wall.

Tourists visit, sure. Yet still, a sense of connection to the place, history, and spirituality.

I was starting to understand Kamakura.

On subsequent business trips to Japan, when possible, I returned to Kamakura. Each time, I would try to discover something different.

Tsurugaoka Hachimangu, a Shinto shrine, often held wedding ceremonies on weekends. Each was a visual delight, contrasting against Torii gates and placid ponds.

At Kenchō-ji temple, I stood quietly and listened as monks chanted melodic prayer. The
harmony resonated as if they were right next to me, though they were halfway across the
temple property.

When my youngest daughter turned 13, we took our first family trip to Japan. As we were
planning, I repeated Terasaki-san’s words: “get out of Tokyo.” 25 years after I first heeded that advice.

We went to Kamakura.

I had two conflicting goals for the day trip. One, I wanted to share “my” Kamakura. The literal zen that I had experienced for decades. Two, I wanted to experience something that would be new to me, that could make for a shared family experience.

Our first stop was in the “new to me” bucket. The Hase-dera temple. Flower walks, tall bamboo, endless carved figures, stone gardens, a small brook. Views of the ocean, which I had never even noticed on previous visits to Kamakura. All of us sensed how unique this experience was, even for the Japanophile.

Kotoku-in temple was just up the road from Hase-dera. It was time to share.

We entered the temple grounds. In decades of visits to Japan, I had never quite managed to line up a business trip with Sakura, the Japanese cherry blossom season. This trip, timing dictated by School District 112, landed a bullseye.

Approaching Daibutsu, I noticed a cherry blossom tree located to the right. Even from ground level, it was obvious how carefully the tree had been planted. At specific angles, sakura formed a perfect blanket atop the Great Buddha. It was a spectacular visual, emblematic of Japan. Post card material. An indelible memory. And my wife and daughter were experiencing it on their very first visit.

I’ve ruined them for life. How could this country ever again live up to their magical first encounter with Daibutsu?