One of my fondest memories of travelling in Japan is from late 2018, when I ventured north from Tokyo into the Tōhoku region.
It would be the first of many visits to an extraordinarily beautiful part of Japan’s rugged countryside. It saw much hardship at the hands of the 2011 earthquake and tsunami, and to this day sees just under 3% of total international visitor numbers alight the bullet train for a visit.
I had come to do some of the shorter portions of a new long-distance scenic trail, the Michinoku Coastal Trail, which was the result of a combined curation effort from dozens of local communities along 1,000km of stunningly varied coastline.
Stopping off at a local inn in the quaint town of Miyako, I was taken out on a tour of the local food joints and watering holes by my host for the night, who explained to me what had led him to do what he does in the first place.
My host was a transgender man who had originally travelled to Miyako from Tokyo in the aftermath of the 2011 disaster to help rebuild the town, and had eventually settled there, having been overwhelmed by the warmth and acceptance he received from the local community, especially compared to the city-slickers of the capital he was used to.
It was through the stories of his characterful neighbours over dumplings and sake that I really came to appreciate what it can be easy to lose sight of - not just the kindness and staggering levels of hospitality considered the norm in these remote reaches, but just how much welcoming tourism meant to these sleepy towns and villages on a personal level.
It's a means of both forging a new future financially and building bridges with the international communities that provided them with aid and, most importantly, hope during times of life-altering necessity.