If I were to describe Hokkaido in a word, it would be ‘magic’, a land where snow falls like cotton candy, blanketing the world in an ethereal dream. Hokkaido cities feel more like enchanted towns rather than cities, each cloaked in a mystical spell from distant lore, leaving a nostalgic feeling that stays with you forever.
In my youth, I thought travel was about checking off popular sights, gathering souvenirs and escaping routines. Now, in my thirties, I find a deeper meaning in a journey. Travelling mindfully allows me to absorb the energy of a place, to walk with ease rather than rush, and surprisingly, it leads me back to profound gratitude for having a home to return to.
Slow travel, I’ve realized, is not about escape, but savoring each moment as it unfolds.
Reading Haruki Murakami’s novels gave me much insight into slow living and travel. In fact, slow travel in Hokkaido feels like stepping into Murakami’s novels, filled with reflection, dreamlike realities and hidden emotions waiting to unfurl.
I never imagined that standing by the roadside or at a crossroad could feel so romantic, but in Sapporo, they are complemented by speakers playing ambient music that floats through the winter air. I felt like I had jumped into a dream when I saw the snow-laden trees create a breathtaking winter tapestry in Asahikawa. And in Otaru, I was charmed by an unpretentious bus station.
Mindful travel sharpens your senses, revealing details that one would miss in a hurry. I’ll never forget the aroma of roasted chestnuts dusted with cinnamon as I wandered through the Sapporo Snow Festival, or the soothing hint of lavender in my rainbow ice cream. The rich, comforting taste of Genghis Khan miso ramen lingers in my memory.
Being mindful of my surroundings allows me to catch life’s fleeting moments: the joy of young girls in kimonos on a random street, a rainbow on a snowy day and autumn leaves kissed by the ice. It also opens doors to meaningful interactions.
One snowy night, I knocked on an egg seller’s door to ask for directions as the bus sign was buried in snow. To my surprise, he didn’t just point the way, he kindly walked me to the stop. Another day, simply being present led to a friendly obasan at a restaurant who wanted to take a selfie with me. These small acts of kindness brought warmth to my journey, turning it into an unforgettable personal experience.
However, slow travel does not stand alone. It is connected to the philosophy of slow living, a way of life that embraces everyday details instead of racing through them.
Just as slow living encourages us to pause, breathe and enjoy simple moments, slow travel invites us to explore with intention and create meaningful connections with each place and person we encounter.
Wandering through Hokkaido at an unhurried pace reminded me to be present in life.
In May 2024, I embarked on a slow journey to Eastern Indonesia, Banda Neira and the Kei Islands to be precise. The trip took at least four days and four nights by sea on the KM. Nggapulu, my first time traveling by ship. Though I live in Bali, the journey began with a bus ride to Surabaya, as the nearest ship departed from Surabaya port.
After four days at sea, as the ship docked at Banda Neira port, I couldn’t hold back the tears. Banda Neira has always been a dream of mine since high school, where I discovered it through history textbooks and the band of the same name.
At first, I planned to stay at a hotel for four days as the ship was only docked for the same amount of time, but fate led me to a chance meeting with an acquaintance, who offered me a place to stay at their sibling's house, thus extending my stay for two weeks.
During those two weeks, I explored many islands, met many interesting people and experienced Banda Neira’s rich history and culture.
Thus, I finally understood the true meaning of destiny and perseverance, since my previous plans to go to Banda Neira always ended in failure every time. Perhaps if I forced myself to go on that journey all those years ago, I wouldn’t have had a fraction of the experience I had this time.
“I am a pioneer, they call me primitive.” These lyrics from the song "Faster" by Manic Street Preachers, highlight the tension in the relationship between modern humans and our forebears. In truth, life, modern or otherwise, is always about choices. That’s how I saw my journey to the Baduy tribe’s hinterland, in southeast Banten, alone for seven days. I was nomadic, sleeping in three different houses, two houses in Baduy Dalam for four days and one house in Baduy Luar for three days. Yes, this slow travel was also part of my choice to ‘rest’ from the so-called ‘modern’ world system.
Perhaps we spend too much time looking outward or trying to improve every aspect of life, without realizing that we already have such intelligent, advanced and noble foundations, which are often forgotten.
The same can be said about the knowledge that the Baduy people possess. I witnessed the construction of a bridge connecting Baduy Dalam and Baduy Luar over a river. The communal bridge-building process was extraordinarily impressive. Here, everyone became an architect, each person took initiative and every voice was heard. I was most amazed by their communication patterns, trust is given without needing constant reassurance, unlike us moderns, with all our doubts.
Slow travel always opens up unexpected possibilities, including my encounter with ethnographic photographer Don Hasman in Baduy, during my second visit to attend the wedding of a Baduy Dalam girl who had been my playmate during my first seven-day journey.
Slow travel, for me, is about appreciating each step and accepting life as it is, becoming aware and truly feeling what we gain in every moment, not just passing by or merely satisfying the ego that superficially desires this or that. This kind of journey also gave me a deeper understanding of things and fostered strong, pure emotional connections to certain experiences, places, people or even something beyond.
All this slow travel in Baduy reminds me of the words of the ancient Chinese philosopher Laozi who said “Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.”
Sometimes, slowing down and trusting natural and instinctive traditions can offer profound insight into how life is meant to flow.
The Camino de Santiago, more than just a physical pilgrimage, is a profound journey of spiritual introspection.
As I traveled the ancient path, my mind and soul were immersed in a contemplative state. The rhythm of my footsteps and the serene beauty of the surrounding landscapes provided a sacred space for deep reflection.
I found solace in the solitude of the journey, allowing myself to ponder life’s deepest questions and connect with my inner self. Through mindful walking meditation, I delved into the depths of my being, gaining a newfound understanding of my purpose and place in the universe.
The Camino became a sacred sanctuary where I rediscovered a sense of peace and connected with a higher power, leaving me forever transformed by the experience.
