As someone who has been in the travel industry for just six months – and who had never left Australia before – my famil to Fukushima was always going to be an eye-opener.
The trip was organised as part of the partnership between the Australian Travel Industry Association (ATIA).
But nothing prepared me for just how deeply this region would move me, or how much it would reshape my understanding of Japan, its people and its extraordinary resilience.
After arriving in Tokyo, after my first long-haul trip, and spending the night in a compact but comfortable hotel, I was buzzing.
I had time for a morning wander through Sensoji Temple, tried a Japanese fortune telling method and boarded the ‘Aizu Liberty’ train north to Fukushima.
This was the point when the adventure truly began.
Our introduction to the region felt like stepping back centuries. Ouchi-Juku, a preserved Edo-period post town, looked like a film set – autumn-coloured hills rising behind rows of thatched-roof houses that are re-thatched every 20 years.
It was here that I tried negi soba, eating noodles with a leek instead of chopsticks – harder than it sounds but easily one of the most memorable food moments of the trip.
Later that day at Tsuruga Castle, I found myself immersed in history. We were taught how samurai, despite their high status, were considered equal within the tearoom.
Regardless of rank everyone was required to enter the tearoom on their knees at the same height, a Japanese custom known as nijiriguchi. It was a simple detail, but one that stuck with me.
That evening, a bar-hopping experience introduced us to Fukushima’s warm hospitality and more new flavours – sake, salmon rice cakes and parts of chicken I’d never tasted before. It pushed me outside my comfort zone in the best possible way.
The next morning brought a profound shift in tone. We visited the Great East Japan Earthquake and Nuclear Disaster Memorial Museum. I don’t think I’ve ever absorbed so much, so quickly.
The thoughtfully curated combination of videos, personal stories, objects and images walked us through the earthquake, the tsunami and the nuclear accident with clarity and compassion.
What moved me most was how the museum honours life before the disaster – not just the tragedy itself. It’s a reminder that memory isn’t only about loss; it’s also about preserving identity.
Nearby, Ukedo Elementary School and the town of Futaba offered more insight into the human impact. Inside the school, visitors can still see the impact of the tsunami. I found myself imagining how terrifying that day must have been for young children.
In Futaba, clocks still show the moment the power failed and the fire station door remains broken from when firefighters had to smash their truck through it as they bravely attempted to respond to an overwhelming emergency.
These physical traces, frozen in time, were haunting as well as unforgettable.
But what struck me throughout was not devastation – it was resilience. This came to life that evening during a hamayaki (seaside barbecue) experience with the Matsukawaura fishing community.
Their warmth and humour were infectious; at one point they even dressed as a samurai while serving us tempura. Sharing food with people who rebuilt their lives from the ground up was a privilege.
The next morning a lagoon cruise showed us the very bridge submerged in the 2011 footage we’d seen the night before. To float peacefully above that same water more than a decade later was surreal – and a powerful symbol of how far the region has come.
And then came my favourite moment: cosplaying in full samurai armour. Fifteen kilos of metal plates are surprisingly easy to walk in and wearing it through town – where locals barely glanced, clearly used to seeing samurai wander past – made me grin from ear to ear.
From Daruma doll painting to winery visits, from meeting Fukushima’s government representatives to encountering fascinated schoolchildren at the aquarium, the days that followed were full of warmth, learning and laughter.
By the time we boarded the train back to Tokyo, there were tears among the group – evidence of how deeply the people of Fukushima had touched us.
This famil taught me that Fukushima is not a place defined by disaster. It is a region defined by strength, culture, generosity and renewal. Since returning home, I haven’t stopped telling people about it.
For travellers – and for our industry – Fukushima has so much to offer. I would like to thank ATIA and Fukushima for the experience and I hope more consultants get the chance to experience it the way I did: with fresh eyes, an open heart and a willingness to be surprised.
