I cannot tell you how relieved I was — and how lucky I felt — to get my backpack back, unscathed, with all my things, money, tech, passport, credit cards, everything intact. If that had happened in America, I would’ve considered myself lucky to get any part of my backpack back. Honestly, I’d put the odds at less than 50%. I hate that, but it’s a reality many of us Americans quietly live with.

This isn’t meant to harp on American society, nor am I here to speculate on why that’s true of our culture. Instead, I want to take a moment to talk about something in Japanese culture that made my bag’s return not just possible, but likely.

The Japanese are deeply mindful of public spaces and look out for each other. It’s woven into the structure of their society. It’s the reason primary‑school kids can safely navigate the Tokyo subway system alone. It’s the reason women can walk at night without the constant fear of being preyed upon. It’s why someone can leave their cellphone on a table in a busy restaurant without worrying that it’ll disappear.

That’s not to say petty crime, assault, or theft never happen — they do — but they sit far outside the norm. Much of this, I think, comes from Japan’s sense of collectivism: the understanding that everyone exists within society and has an obligation to it. Because of that cultural imperative, everyone benefits from the shared responsibility, even foreigners.

And that’s the difference between losing everything that night… and getting it all back.

I’m forever grateful to Japan and the Japanese people for that kindness. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. It speaks volumes about your character. The world would be a better place if more cultures valued the ideals you embody.

Breakfast and the First Morning in Otaru

With my backpack and all its contents safely returned and accounted for, and my chest full of gratitude for Japan still echoing in my heart, it was time to begin the day we had flown across the Pacific for. But the first order of business was breakfast.

Neither of us had eaten a proper meal that didn’t involve airline food since we left Seattle. No offense, Starlux Airlines — your food is good, but it doesn’t compare to a proper sit‑down meal with a full plate of your favorite foods. We were looking forward to real coffee, a hot plate, and whatever delicious goodies were on offer at the hotel.

Pro‑tip: if the hotel has breakfast on offer, utilize it. Especially if you’re in a new place or a foreign country. It will make the rest of the day easier.

My partner and I enjoyed what was left of the golden hour, took our showers, got dressed, and walked downstairs to the hotel’s great room for breakfast. We were meeting our realtor at 9:30, so we had time. As we got closer, we could smell the coffee and other breakfast foods, and our mouths started to water.

The hostess seated us and, in true Japanese efficiency, gave us a card to mark our table. When we were done eating, we flipped the card over — their signal to clean the table and prepare it for the next guests. Once again, chalk one up to Japanese culture: efficiency and mindfulness rolled into one simple, easy‑to‑understand card.

We walked up to the buffet and saw all the great things on display. Trays of grilled fish, miso soup, eggs, pastries, fruit, special Hokkaido dairy and locally grown foods, coffee, tea, sausages, salads with corn — all the fixings for the start of a great day. We walked around, filled our plates, and got our coffee.

I accidentally grabbed a kiddie cup for my coffee. I didn’t realize it until later in the meal, but hey — first breakfast! Mistakes happen.

The view of the bay was absurdly beautiful. The sun felt warm, and we had a front‑row seat to watch the goings‑on at the port. I took a sip of coffee. It was glorious.

My partner smiled at me as she ate and said, “It’s hard to believe we live here now. This is what our mornings are like.”

I slowly nodded as I took another sip. “This feels unreal.”

We ate in silence, taking in the moment and adjusting to the reality of the day ahead. I looked at my watch; we had enough time to go back to the room, brush our teeth, and then head down to the lobby to meet the realtor. We were both buzzing with anticipation, but I could tell there was something resembling a longing behind my partner’s eyes. It was a melancholy look she was doing a good job of hiding, but I knew it was there.

I reached over and asked, “Are you okay?” She nodded, smiled, and assured me she was.

For the moment, I put it at the back of my mind. Sometimes thoughts must percolate before they are ready for discussion, and she wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. This was one of those moments.

Meeting the Realtor (and a Few Unexpected Friends)

We went back to the room, brushed our teeth, straightened our clothes, and then went down to the lobby to finally meet our realtor in person. We were several minutes early, and since we didn’t know which entrance our realtor would use, we decided the best strategy was to divide and conquer.

I stood by the front entrance, and my partner stood by the side entrance. That way, we could cover the two he was likely to walk through — and the third, which was the entrance from the mall attached to the hotel.

As I was standing there, admiring a vase of flowers, a Japanese woman came up to me and started making small talk in broken English. We talked about the flowers and the hotel, and then she asked where I was from. I told her I was from America, and we proceeded to have a lovely little conversation about America and one of the things that makes America great: the food, of course! That’s a hill I will die on every single time when I talk about American greatness — but I digress. That’s a post for another day.

The conversation eventually drifted to what I was doing in Japan, and I explained that my partner and I recently bought a house here, and we were excited to finally see it today. Her face lit up with joy, and I could tell she was excited for us.

Just then, our realtor walked in (on the side my partner was covering, of course), and my partner came over to collect me. I bowed to the woman and wished her a good day.

“Who was that?” asked Joy.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Someone who just came up and wanted to talk with me.”

As it turns out, she had a little conversation with the woman’s husband, who had also just walked up and started talking with her, until our realtor arrived as well.

We greeted our realtor, Ryo. We gave him a small gift — a glass float — symbolic of the role he played in helping us catch our house. He thanked us, and as we were getting ready to sit down and tackle the business portion of our transaction, the lady I had been talking to came up behind us, said hello, wished us well on our journey, and said she hoped she’d meet us again someday.

Ryo looked confused and asked if she was a friend of ours. I said no, but we tend to attract strangers who like to come up and have conversations with us. He looked confused for a moment, then smiled, laughed, and said he had never seen anything like that before in his life.

My partner and I chuckled, shrugged, and said that was just the kind of people we are.

The First House: A Twist We Didn’t Expect

One part I haven’t talked about at all in this journey is that my partner and I ended up buying two houses in this little endeavor of ours to build a rich life.

Originally, we were looking at a small house near the Otaru Canal. Back in America, we’d call it a row house. It was nothing big or extravagant, but it was perfect for what we imagined we’d enjoy as we got older.

We then learned that the house was a rental with two tenants: a 91‑year‑old man and his 60‑year‑old son.

I’ve gone through the pain of seeing renters’ homes get sold out from under them. I know the panic and stress‑inducing anxiety of watching a process you have no control over dissolve a comfortable life you thought you could count on. My partner and I both agreed that if our offer was accepted on this property, we would not kick them out or do anything that would upset their way of life, not even raising the rent.

It was an unexpected twist in our journey, but one that felt right.

Meeting Our Tenants

We drove to the property, though “drove” might be generous — Japanese real estate has two modes: meticulous detail and “meh, good enough.” Property boundaries fall into the latter category. According to both Google and Apple, where it says the house is versus where it actually is are two different locations.

Eventually, we parked and walked on foot until my partner’s keen eye spotted it.

We walked up to the house and started to knock when the upstairs window opened and a man began shouting down to us. Ryo spoke with him, then turned and said, “We found the place. They’re coming down to greet us.”

Our tenants invited us in. We took off our shoes and stepped into the kitchen — our house, but their home. It was cozy, distinctly Japanese, and full of things we didn’t yet understand.

We introduced ourselves and explained that we wanted them to remain in the house they’d called home for decades. They were relieved. The son explained the repair arrangement with the previous landlords, and we agreed to continue it.

The old man, a tailor born in the 1930s, had lived in Otaru all his life. My historian brain immediately began spinning with ideas — stories of occupation, rebuilding, childhood memories. A race against time. A project for another day. I digress.

His son, a cosplayer, was delightful and charming as well — just like his old man.

The old man also had an eye for Joy. He brought her a chair, made sure she was comfortable, and as we were leaving, he looked at her and said, “Beautiful.” It was sincere, sweet, and deeply human.

Leaving their home, I felt a quiet sense of peace — we had done right by them, and that mattered.

The Road to Our Own House

We were delighted, and we knew we had made the right decisions: buy the house as a rental, keep the same arrangements, and move on to a different house for ourselves. If we were in pursuit of building our own rich life, who were we to wreck the dreams of others doing the same?

Finally, we were back on the road to our own house — the REAL moment we’d been waiting for what felt like a lifetime.

Because deep down my partner is just as big a nerd as I am, and she has a love for all things Google Street View, she already knew the route, the landmarks, and guided Ryo straight to it. No second‑guessing. No diversions. That German efficiency and Protestant work ethic in her was paying off.

We pulled onto the gravel street, and Ryo backed into the driveway. Everything we had been working toward culminated in this moment.

We were home.