We thought Japan would be peaceful—it wasn’t

We were told Japan was safe. Clean, quiet, respectful. A perfect destination for seniors. We arrived in Osaka during Golden Week. No one warned us. The train station was chaos—crowds like Times Square on New Year’s. Signs in Japanese. No staff to help. When I asked a young man for directions, he bowed and ran away. Our hotel room was tiny. We could barely open two suitcases. The toilet had so many buttons, I was afraid to touch it. It sprayed water when I tried to flush. We wanted sushi. Ended up in a place with no English menu. I pointed to a dish. They brought raw squid with wasabi. I choked. My wife cried from the spice. We tried to find a quiet temple. It was full of tourists taking selfies. Someone flew a drone. A monk scolded them in Japanese. After a week, we were exhausted. Too much walking. Too much confusion. Too much silence—but not the peaceful kind. The isolating kind. I don’t blame the country. It’s just not built for people like us.