I’ll have to be honest. Renting a car to explore the Japanese Alps two days after Mom arrived might not have been my best idea ever. She felt exhausted by the jetlag, understandably intimidated by the switch from right-hand traffic to left-hand traffic, and anxious about the tall bridges and steep cliffs sure to be found in those Japanese Alps. We almost had to cancel our self-drive plans before they even started. 

But, powered by fresh apple juice, an almost Japanese sense of perseverance, and the reassurance of the well-built roads, Mom felt confident that the challenge was not as insurmountable as she had feared. As she drove North, her hands slowly relaxed around the steering wheel, and the sky grew clear and blue. The sun cheered us on, and I kept my eyes fixed on my phone, calling out the route like the assistant of a rally driver. I tried to ensure we got to our destination swiftly and with minimum mistakes. 

Thanks to our little Nissan we could visit places almost untouched by the frightening crowds of Tokyo and Kyoto. Driving from our charming homestay somewhere in a sleepy valley through the mountains stopped being a daunting task, and instead became a chance to converse about the past six months we’d been separated, while the lovely scenery of the forested peaks flew by.

We saw picturesque shrines deep in nature, where thick carpets of vibrant moss covered the forest floor, a forest only made up of enormous sugi cedars, of an age that makes human life feel like butterflies in the wind. We also reached the little castle tower of Maruoka, smaller and humbler than its more famous cousins. But this made it all the more endearing and memorable. By the end of our six-day excursion in the Japanese Alps, Mom was quite reluctant to return our trusty little car. 

As our trip continued, we could not but arrange for another rental car. The slow-paced island of Shikoku practically screams to be explored by car, and this time powered by the sweet mandarin juice that the island is known for, we made our way through the spectacular gorges and mist-filled valleys of inner Shikoku, until we arrived in the remote Iya Valley. Almost no public transport makes it this far, to the vine bridges that span the Iya River. By now, Mom felt more at ease on the windy roads than on the swaying bridges over the icy meltwater.

A week later, to escape the rowdy city of Naha, we picked up a little Toyota to reach the less developed, more overgrown northern half of Okinawa Island. While looking out the window at the small islets in the distance, Mom drove us safely from ruined castle to jungle forest, stopping to have a cup of tea in the sun, or lie down on the sand where usually only seagulls look for scraps between the shells. By now the left-hand traffic felt natural, and thanks to my expert navigation, we always got to our destination without hiccups. 

In the end, teamwork and endurance turned my questionable idea into an unforgettable memory.