By Ali Syarief
A Cross-Cultural Reflection on Japan, Friendship, and the Art of Understanding
The world is full of people who travel, but very few who truly see.
It is a simple sentence, yet it carries a profound meaning. Traveling is relatively easy. We buy a ticket, pack our luggage, visit famous destinations, take photographs, and return home with stories. But truly seeing a place, understanding its people, and experiencing the soul of another culture requires something much deeper than simply being a tourist.
I often encounter an interesting reaction from friends whenever I invite them to travel to Japan.
“Mr. Ali, you’ve been to Japan before, haven’t you?”
I usually smile.
Yes, I have. And by March 24, 2027, it will be my 35th visit to Japan.
Am I bored?
Not at all. Quite the opposite. I always look forward to returning. Japan has become a place I miss, not because of its famous destinations, but because of the people who have become part of my life.
At this stage of my journey, I no longer travel to Japan primarily to see Mount Fuji, walk along Ginza, explore Shinjuku, or watch a Kabuki performance. Those places are beautiful, certainly, but they are no longer the main reason I return.
I go to meet friends.
Friends who, over the years, have become more like family. People with whom I can sit for hours, discuss familiar subjects, exchange perspectives, laugh about ordinary things, and sometimes remain silent without feeling uncomfortable.
We may discuss the same topics we discussed during previous visits, but the atmosphere is never quite the same. The people may be familiar, yet the conversations continue to reveal something new.
That is the beauty of cross-cultural friendship: familiarity does not necessarily produce boredom. Sometimes, it creates a deeper curiosity.
The longer we stay together, the more we understand one another.
I have gradually learned that understanding a culture cannot be achieved simply by reading books, visiting museums, or listening to a tour guide. Those things provide knowledge, but living with people provides insight.
When we share meals, household routines, jokes, personal stories, and even moments of disagreement, we begin to understand the philosophy behind everyday life.
We start to see how a modern civilization can remain deeply rooted in traditional values. Japan offers a fascinating example of this relationship between modernity and cultural continuity.
Its technology may be advanced, its cities highly organized, and its public services remarkably efficient. Yet beneath this modern structure, one can still discover the influence of older values: respect, discipline, modesty, responsibility, harmony, and consideration for others.
These values are not always expressed through grand ceremonies. Often, they are found in the smallest gestures of daily life.
And perhaps that is where culture truly lives.
Beyond the Taste of Natto
One day, my Japanese friends were rather surprised to see me eating natto so enthusiastically.
For many foreigners, natto—with its distinctive smell, sticky texture, and unusual appearance—is not exactly an inviting culinary experience.
But I enjoy it.
Food, after all, is not merely about taste. It is also a cultural language. What people eat, how they prepare it, and how they share it reveal something about their history, environment, and collective identity.
I have come to appreciate that understanding another culture sometimes begins with something as simple as accepting what is served at the dining table.
There is no need to compare everything with our own culinary traditions. We do not have to declare one food superior to another. We simply need the willingness to experience it.
The same principle applies to culture itself.
Understanding does not require us to abandon our identity. It requires us to make room for another person’s way of living.
Beer: A Bond Beyond the Glass
And then there is beer.
In many of my encounters with Japanese friends, sharing a beer becomes a special moment of connection. It is not about drinking to get drunk. It is about creating an atmosphere in which people can relax, lower their social barriers, and speak more freely.
A glass of beer can become a bridge between two different cultural backgrounds.
Conversations flow. Laughter becomes spontaneous. Serious subjects become easier to discuss. Sometimes, the most meaningful exchanges happen not in a formal meeting room but around an ordinary dining table.
The happiness of that evening does not have to disappear when the night ends. On the contrary, it often leaves us feeling lighter the following morning, carrying memories of friendship and shared happiness.
Of course, the beer itself is not the essence of friendship. It is simply one of the social settings in which friendship can grow.
The real bond is created by trust, mutual respect, and the willingness to listen.
The Ofuro: Crossing the Boundaries of Comfort
Another experience that may surprise first-time visitors is sharing an ofuro, the traditional Japanese communal bathing experience.
For someone unfamiliar with the practice, bathing together can initially feel uncomfortable. Our cultural backgrounds shape our understanding of privacy, personal boundaries, and physical space.
What seems perfectly natural in one society may feel unusual in another.
But once we understand the cultural context, the experience takes on a different meaning.
The ofuro is not merely about bathing. It can also represent a moment of relaxation, equality, and togetherness. Outside the usual social roles and formalities, people share an ordinary human experience.
For me, these moments have become memorable parts of cross-cultural friendship.
They remind me that understanding another culture sometimes requires us to step outside our familiar comfort zones—not to surrender our values, but to discover how other people construct theirs.
Friendship Is the Most Beautiful Destination
After so many visits to Japan, I have come to realize that the most valuable destination is not necessarily a geographical location.
It is a human relationship.
Mount Fuji may remain majestic. Ginza may continue to be fashionable. Shinjuku may never lose its energy. But the memories that stay closest to my heart are often much simpler: a conversation with an old friend, a shared meal, an unexpected joke, a glass of beer, or an evening spent together in an ordinary Japanese home.
These experiences have taught me that cross-cultural understanding is not an academic concept alone. It is something we practice through everyday encounters.
It requires curiosity rather than prejudice, listening rather than judging, and friendship rather than merely observing.
Perhaps this is also the real purpose of traveling: not to collect photographs of places we have visited, but to collect a deeper understanding of the people who inhabit them.
The more we travel, the more opportunities we have to discover that the world is not as different as we sometimes imagine. Beneath different languages, customs, food, and traditions, we share many of the same human aspirations: to be respected, understood, appreciated, and accepted.
I have visited Japan many times, and I am still looking forward to the next journey.
Not because I have not seen enough of Japan, but because I have not finished discovering the people I love there.
And perhaps that is the difference between traveling and truly seeing.
A tourist visits a country. A friend becomes part of its human landscape.
For me, Japan is no longer simply a destination on the map. It is a collection of friendships, shared memories, and continuing conversations across cultures.
And that is why I never get bored of returning.
