When people talk about preparing for a trip to Japan, it’s usually all about the logistics—how to buy a Suica card, which JR Pass to get, what rides to prioritize at Disney, how to navigate a train transfer with three kids and six suitcases.
And sure, I did all that (and then some).
But what I want to talk about is something deeper: how to travel with respect.
How to show up in someone else’s home—and honor that. Because as someone born and raised in Hawaiʻi, I’ve seen firsthand what happens when people come to your home and forget to bring their manners.
The Heart Behind the Chocolate
Before our trip, I went to Longs and bought a 30-pack of Hawaiian Sun macadamia nut chocolates. Not for us. For the people we would meet along the way.
I knew that Japan doesn’t have a tipping culture, and I didn’t want to impose American expectations. But I also knew how incredible Japanese service would be—not because they expect a tip, but because they see service as a reflection of self, culture, and pride.
So I brought gifts.
And whenever someone helped us—our taxi cab drivers, the housekeeping staff, the airport attendants, the hotel check-in desk—I offered them a box with a smile and said:
“Hawai kara no okurimono”
A gift from Hawaiʻi.
Every time, the reaction was the same. Their faces lit up. They bowed, smiled wide, and thanked us again and again. It was such a small thing—a $1.20 chocolate box—but it meant something.
It meant, “I see you. I appreciate you. I respect your home.”
Speaking Their Language (Even Just a Little)
One night in Shinagawa, we realized our hotel room only had two pillows—and five tired people. I stared at the phone for a solid minute before working up the courage to call housekeeping. I didn’t want to assume they spoke English. So instead, I asked:
“Eigo ga wakarimasu ka?”
Do you understand English?
The man replied, “Sōchi,” which meant yes, a little. I asked for three more pillows, thanked him, and hung up—shaking and proud. I didn’t butcher it. I communicated. I tried.
Later, Alyssa said, “Mom, you didn’t even say it exactly like the app. You went off script!”
She was genuinely impressed. That moment will stay with me longer than any landmark we saw.
The Cab Ride That Meant the Most
When we arrived in Kyoto, our cab driver pointed out Hokan-ji Temple as we approached our machiya rental. I decided to try again.
I said, “Ikura des ka?” (How much is it?)
He smiled and told me my Japanese was good. I replied, clumsily but sincerely, “Sōchi,” and added, “Kawamoto-san.” While pointing to myself.
His eyes lit up. “You’re one of us,” he said, laughing with joy—not at me, but with me. I handed him a box of mac nuts, and he held it like I’d just given him gold.
That moment hit hard.
Because I wasn’t just a tourist anymore. I was Christina Kawamoto-Butler—a woman whose great-great-grandparents, Naoji and Chise Kawamoto, left Hiroshima for Hawaiʻi in the 1880s.
And here I was, in 2025, bringing their legacy full circle.
It wasn’t just a trip—it was a homecoming.
Final Thoughts: Traveling with Aloha
When we travel, we often focus so much on where we’re going and what we’ll see. But I want to invite you to also think about how you’re showing up.
Are you taking pictures and leaving trash? Or are you learning phrases and offering gratitude?
Are you demanding service? Or are you recognizing that someone is welcoming you into their home?
This is the approach I brought with me to Japan—and it’s the one I’ll carry as we travel the world. Because traveling with respect is more important than any itinerary.
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