LESSONS I LEARNED AS A TOUR GUIDE
Giving Your Best to the Person in Front of You
Practical lessons on service and life, drawn from three years of guiding
Contents
- Introduction: Is Tour Guiding a New Lesson in Life?
- Chapter 1: The Essence of Service Is to Fulfill the Heart
- Chapter 2: Think from the Guest’s Point of View
- Chapter 3: Guide with Confidence and Humility
- Chapter 4: How to Communicate the Samurai Spirit
- Chapter 5: The Mission: Impossible Nikko Tour
- Chapter 6: Even After a Mistake, Your Best Can Turn Things Around
- Chapter 7: A Difficult Private Tour — Part 1
- Chapter 8: A Difficult Private Tour — Part 2
- Chapter 9: The Heart of Great Tour Guiding
- Chapter 10: The Secret of Becoming a Better Guide Is Objectivity
- Chapter 11: Learn from People Who Are Better Than You
- Chapter 12: Develop Your Character Through Your Work
- Chapter 13: The True Meaning of a Japanese Festival
- Chapter 14: Send the Child You Love Out into the World
- Conclusion: Give Your Best to the Person in Front of You
Introduction: Is Tour Guiding a New Lesson in Life?
The happiest moment for me as a tour guide is receiving a wonderful review from a guest.
I have always tried to give my best in every line of work I have pursued: treating patients through Eastern medicine, promoting health products, teaching, and managing real estate. In each of those roles, there were times when people thanked me. Yet the gratitude I receive as a guide feels different. It is deeply personal and especially rewarding.
I began to wonder why. Perhaps it is because the position I occupy as a guide is the opposite of the one I held in my previous professions. As a specialist, I was often expected to say, in effect, “Leave it to me. I know the method that will produce the best result.” A guide, however experienced, must begin by listening. We first learn what the guest wants and then adjust ourselves to their needs.
Left to myself, I might take guests through the Imperial Palace grounds while speaking about samurai culture, or explain Japanese religion and ways of thinking at Meiji Shrine and Senso-ji Temple. But when a guest says, “I want to see a samurai show,” “I want a ninja experience,” or “I want to eat the Emperor Bowl at Tsukiji,” that becomes part of the day. The Emperor Bowl is an extravagant seafood rice bowl piled high with fatty tuna and sea urchin, and it costs around 24,000 yen.
I am sixty-five years old, and I had never been to a samurai or ninja show before becoming a guide. If I were going to spend 24,000 yen on seafood, I would personally choose a proper sushi restaurant rather than an open-air stall at Tsukiji. But that is my preference, not the guest’s. When a guest wants the experience, my job is to help them enjoy it one hundred percent. Once we go, I join in wholeheartedly and make it fun.
Overseas travel companies and international visitors often design their itineraries around the image of Japan they already carry in their minds. That image may differ from what Japanese people themselves consider authentic Japanese culture. Guests may be looking for the Japan of their imagination. A professional does not impose personal values. A professional understands the experience the person in front of them is seeking and helps them enjoy it to the fullest.
This way of working was new to me, and that is precisely why it has been so refreshing. No matter how old we are, taking on something new can make us feel alive again.
There is another pleasure in this work. I also train guides, and many of the international guides in their twenties simply call me “Aki.” They say, “Let’s go for a drink,” or “Let’s hang out sometime,” as though I were one of their own generation. In Japan, people would normally add an honorific and use formal language with someone forty years older. That custom is not wrong, but being treated as an equal regardless of age or title has been a wonderfully fresh and comfortable experience for me.
Tour guiding is not only the work of showing Japan to others. It may also be the work of letting go of old assumptions and learning life all over again.
During these three years, guests have repeatedly taught me what service means, what professionalism looks like, and what it means to accept another person as they are. This book is not a manual of fixed answers. It is a collection of lessons from difficult days, mistakes, unexpected requests, and moments of joy. I hope it helps new guides think about the kind of guide they themselves want to become.
I have always tried to give my best in every line of work I have pursued: treating patients through Eastern medicine, promoting health products, teaching, and managing real estate. In each of those roles, there were times when people thanked me. Yet the gratitude I receive as a guide feels different. It is deeply personal and especially rewarding.
I began to wonder why. Perhaps it is because the position I occupy as a guide is the opposite of the one I held in my previous professions. As a specialist, I was often expected to say, in effect, “Leave it to me. I know the method that will produce the best result.” A guide, however experienced, must begin by listening. We first learn what the guest wants and then adjust ourselves to their needs.
Left to myself, I might take guests through the Imperial Palace grounds while speaking about samurai culture, or explain Japanese religion and ways of thinking at Meiji Shrine and Senso-ji Temple. But when a guest says, “I want to see a samurai show,” “I want a ninja experience,” or “I want to eat the Emperor Bowl at Tsukiji,” that becomes part of the day. The Emperor Bowl is an extravagant seafood rice bowl piled high with fatty tuna and sea urchin, and it costs around 24,000 yen.
I am sixty-five years old, and I had never been to a samurai or ninja show before becoming a guide. If I were going to spend 24,000 yen on seafood, I would personally choose a proper sushi restaurant rather than an open-air stall at Tsukiji. But that is my preference, not the guest’s. When a guest wants the experience, my job is to help them enjoy it one hundred percent. Once we go, I join in wholeheartedly and make it fun.
Overseas travel companies and international visitors often design their itineraries around the image of Japan they already carry in their minds. That image may differ from what Japanese people themselves consider authentic Japanese culture. Guests may be looking for the Japan of their imagination. A professional does not impose personal values. A professional understands the experience the person in front of them is seeking and helps them enjoy it to the fullest.
This way of working was new to me, and that is precisely why it has been so refreshing. No matter how old we are, taking on something new can make us feel alive again.
There is another pleasure in this work. I also train guides, and many of the international guides in their twenties simply call me “Aki.” They say, “Let’s go for a drink,” or “Let’s hang out sometime,” as though I were one of their own generation. In Japan, people would normally add an honorific and use formal language with someone forty years older. That custom is not wrong, but being treated as an equal regardless of age or title has been a wonderfully fresh and comfortable experience for me.
Tour guiding is not only the work of showing Japan to others. It may also be the work of letting go of old assumptions and learning life all over again.
During these three years, guests have repeatedly taught me what service means, what professionalism looks like, and what it means to accept another person as they are. This book is not a manual of fixed answers. It is a collection of lessons from difficult days, mistakes, unexpected requests, and moments of joy. I hope it helps new guides think about the kind of guide they themselves want to become.
Chapter 1: The Essence of Service Is to Fulfill the Heart
One day, I was talking with a mentor about the essence of service.
Trainee guides often ask me, “How can I become a good guide?” I used to answer, “Always give your best during the tour,” and, “Keep asking yourself what would make the guest happy.” Those are important ideas, but understanding words and turning them into action are not the same thing.
During the conversation, my mentor said that service might be described as filling a customer’s heart and bringing a smile to their face. The moment I heard it, something clicked.
Even without a detailed manual, people can make good decisions when they share one clear purpose: to make the person in front of them smile. The most important issue is not merely how you act, but the intention behind your action. It is not only what you do, but who you are while you are doing it.
The same is true for tour guides. Knowledge and presentation skills matter, of course. But even more important is genuine interest in the guest and a sincere desire to give that person a good experience.
When that intention is present, you begin to notice what the moment requires. You sense when to speak and when to pause, when to continue an explanation and when to let the guest quietly enjoy the view, when to take a break and when to keep moving.
Service is not a set of prescribed movements. It is the attitude of trying to fulfill another person’s heart.
Trainee guides often ask me, “How can I become a good guide?” I used to answer, “Always give your best during the tour,” and, “Keep asking yourself what would make the guest happy.” Those are important ideas, but understanding words and turning them into action are not the same thing.
During the conversation, my mentor said that service might be described as filling a customer’s heart and bringing a smile to their face. The moment I heard it, something clicked.
Even without a detailed manual, people can make good decisions when they share one clear purpose: to make the person in front of them smile. The most important issue is not merely how you act, but the intention behind your action. It is not only what you do, but who you are while you are doing it.
The same is true for tour guides. Knowledge and presentation skills matter, of course. But even more important is genuine interest in the guest and a sincere desire to give that person a good experience.
When that intention is present, you begin to notice what the moment requires. You sense when to speak and when to pause, when to continue an explanation and when to let the guest quietly enjoy the view, when to take a break and when to keep moving.
Service is not a set of prescribed movements. It is the attitude of trying to fulfill another person’s heart.
Lesson from this chapter: Service begins not with a manual, but with the
intention to fulfill the heart of the guest in front of you.
Chapter 2: Think from the Guest’s Point of View
If someone asks what is necessary to become a good guide, my answer is simple: place
yourself in the guest’s position and work hard to provide what that person is seeking.
There is an important difference between thinking “for the guest” and thinking “from the guest’s point of view.” The phrase “for the guest” can quietly contain an assumption that we know better. To see the tour through the guest’s eyes, we must temporarily set aside our own preferences and convenience.
What is this guest expecting? What do they want to experience? What might move them emotionally? To find out, I use travel time and quiet moments at the beginning of a tour to ask questions: Why did you come to Japan? What interests you about the country? What are you most looking forward to today?
Once I understand the person, ideas come naturally. Even on the same Tokyo day tour or Tsukiji walk, I begin to think, “This explanation might delight this guest,” or, “This route would suit this family better.”
That flexibility requires preparation. At Tsukiji, a guide should know several possible routes. In Harajuku, it helps to know different ways to walk through the area. Even at Meiji Shrine, the route and explanation should change according to the guest.
When you can shape the experience around the individual, the first result is often a good review, and sometimes a tip. That is the first stage. The next stage is when guests return home and tell friends or relatives, “When you go to Japan, I recommend this guide.” Beyond that is the stage at which a guest tells the travel company, “Next time, I want the same guide again.”
There is no shortcut. Study your routes, improve the way you tell stories, and respond to questions and requests as fully as possible. Through that accumulation, guests begin to feel, “This experience could only have happened with this guide.”
To reach that level, do not walk only the routes assigned by your company. Explore the city on your days off. Take a small detour when you visit an unfamiliar neighborhood. Ask yourself whether two places could be combined into an interesting experience. Small discoveries eventually become the power to create a tour that is uniquely your own.
Most important of all, decide to give the best you can with the ability you have today. Guests will feel that intention.
There is an important difference between thinking “for the guest” and thinking “from the guest’s point of view.” The phrase “for the guest” can quietly contain an assumption that we know better. To see the tour through the guest’s eyes, we must temporarily set aside our own preferences and convenience.
What is this guest expecting? What do they want to experience? What might move them emotionally? To find out, I use travel time and quiet moments at the beginning of a tour to ask questions: Why did you come to Japan? What interests you about the country? What are you most looking forward to today?
Once I understand the person, ideas come naturally. Even on the same Tokyo day tour or Tsukiji walk, I begin to think, “This explanation might delight this guest,” or, “This route would suit this family better.”
That flexibility requires preparation. At Tsukiji, a guide should know several possible routes. In Harajuku, it helps to know different ways to walk through the area. Even at Meiji Shrine, the route and explanation should change according to the guest.
When you can shape the experience around the individual, the first result is often a good review, and sometimes a tip. That is the first stage. The next stage is when guests return home and tell friends or relatives, “When you go to Japan, I recommend this guide.” Beyond that is the stage at which a guest tells the travel company, “Next time, I want the same guide again.”
There is no shortcut. Study your routes, improve the way you tell stories, and respond to questions and requests as fully as possible. Through that accumulation, guests begin to feel, “This experience could only have happened with this guide.”
To reach that level, do not walk only the routes assigned by your company. Explore the city on your days off. Take a small detour when you visit an unfamiliar neighborhood. Ask yourself whether two places could be combined into an interesting experience. Small discoveries eventually become the power to create a tour that is uniquely your own.
Most important of all, decide to give the best you can with the ability you have today. Guests will feel that intention.
Lesson from this chapter: The path from good reviews to referrals and repeat
requests begins by setting aside your convenience and learning what the guest truly expects.
Chapter 3: Guide with Confidence and Humility
I believe there are two broad styles of guiding. One is calm, modest, and gentle. The
other leads with the confidence of saying, “This is my territory. I promise you an excellent experience.”
My colleague Jiro and I tend to belong to the second type. Jiro often says, “Tsukiji is my backyard.” I guide with the feeling that all of Tokyo is my backyard.
Of course, I do not literally know every corner of Tokyo. Still, when I carry myself with that confidence, guests feel safe following me. At the same time, the words create a commitment inside me: I must become the kind of guide who deserves to say them.
Eastern philosophy has an expression that may be translated as, “Energy follows intention.” The consciousness we hold and the words we use influence the way we act. Saying, “Tokyo is my backyard,” reassures the guest, but it is also a promise to myself: learn more, discover more, and create better experiences. The declaration becomes fuel for growth.
Yet confidence alone is not enough. In front of guests, stand tall. When it is time to learn, be more humble than anyone else. Walk new streets, study new subjects, and openly adopt what other guides do well. That steady effort turns boldness into confidence with a real foundation.
Confidence and humility are not opposites. Confidence gives guests reassurance; humility allows us to continue growing. A good guide needs both.
My colleague Jiro and I tend to belong to the second type. Jiro often says, “Tsukiji is my backyard.” I guide with the feeling that all of Tokyo is my backyard.
Of course, I do not literally know every corner of Tokyo. Still, when I carry myself with that confidence, guests feel safe following me. At the same time, the words create a commitment inside me: I must become the kind of guide who deserves to say them.
Eastern philosophy has an expression that may be translated as, “Energy follows intention.” The consciousness we hold and the words we use influence the way we act. Saying, “Tokyo is my backyard,” reassures the guest, but it is also a promise to myself: learn more, discover more, and create better experiences. The declaration becomes fuel for growth.
Yet confidence alone is not enough. In front of guests, stand tall. When it is time to learn, be more humble than anyone else. Walk new streets, study new subjects, and openly adopt what other guides do well. That steady effort turns boldness into confidence with a real foundation.
Confidence and humility are not opposites. Confidence gives guests reassurance; humility allows us to continue growing. A good guide needs both.
Lesson from this chapter: Give guests reassurance and hold yourself to a high
standard. Lead confidently, but never lose the humility to learn.
Chapter 4: How to Communicate the Samurai Spirit
After I once wrote that I had never attended a samurai or ninja show, a former guest asked, “You are
Japanese. Why are you not interested in samurai and ninja?”
It is not that I lack interest. My grandfather was proud that our family came from a samurai line. To me, samurai and ninja were people who accepted the possibility of death in service of a larger cause. Ninja worked in secrecy and sometimes risked their lives to complete missions. For that reason, I occasionally feel uneasy when only their outward appearance is copied casually.
It is not easy to explain to someone raised outside Japan why a samurai might take his own life, or what it meant to sacrifice oneself for honor, family, or duty. Yet while guiding, I do not need to force guests to understand a difficult philosophy. When they want to visit a samurai museum, put on armor, hold a sword, and take photographs, I enjoy it with them wholeheartedly.
Perhaps it resembles the way Japanese visitors enjoy attractions at Disneyland. During a tour, I put my private philosophy to one side. A professional’s responsibility is to help guests enjoy the experience they chose.
Give your best in that moment. Laugh with the guest. Make the time exceptional. I believe the modern samurai spirit lies less in wearing the costume than in that disciplined attitude.
It is not that I lack interest. My grandfather was proud that our family came from a samurai line. To me, samurai and ninja were people who accepted the possibility of death in service of a larger cause. Ninja worked in secrecy and sometimes risked their lives to complete missions. For that reason, I occasionally feel uneasy when only their outward appearance is copied casually.
It is not easy to explain to someone raised outside Japan why a samurai might take his own life, or what it meant to sacrifice oneself for honor, family, or duty. Yet while guiding, I do not need to force guests to understand a difficult philosophy. When they want to visit a samurai museum, put on armor, hold a sword, and take photographs, I enjoy it with them wholeheartedly.
Perhaps it resembles the way Japanese visitors enjoy attractions at Disneyland. During a tour, I put my private philosophy to one side. A professional’s responsibility is to help guests enjoy the experience they chose.
Give your best in that moment. Laugh with the guest. Make the time exceptional. I believe the modern samurai spirit lies less in wearing the costume than in that disciplined attitude.
Lesson from this chapter: Respect the deeper meaning of a culture, but never
dismiss the guest’s way of enjoying it. Create the best possible moment together.
Chapter 5: The Mission: Impossible Nikko Tour
One day, I was assigned a Nikko tour that deserved to be called Mission: Impossible.
A proper Nikko tour requires at least ten hours. From Tokyo to Kegon Falls or Lake Chuzenji takes roughly three hours each way when traffic is included. That is six hours in the vehicle. Add an hour for lunch, and seven hours are already gone. A normal schedule might leave two hours for Toshogu Shrine, thirty minutes for Kegon Falls, and thirty minutes for Lake Chuzenji.
That day, however, we were scheduled to leave a Shinjuku hotel at 10:00 a.m. and finish at 6:00 p.m. We had only eight hours. Travel and lunch alone would consume nearly seven of them.
I told the guests we would have to choose either Toshogu Shrine or Kegon Falls. They said they wanted to see autumn leaves, so we climbed the winding Irohazaka road and made Kegon Falls our single destination.
Because of traffic, we arrived around 1:40 p.m. The guests had also enjoyed browsing souvenirs at a service area for more than thirty minutes. Before reaching the falls, our only sightseeing had been a two- or three-minute stop to photograph the leaves along Irohazaka.
At Kegon Falls, we spent about ten minutes at the free upper observation deck. An elevator costing 600 yen descends to a platform near the base. From below, you feel the spray and the force of the waterfall is entirely different. Thinking that this might be their only visit to Japan, I recommended it. They declined. They could not know how different the view would be, so I accepted their decision.
We ate lunch, stopped for another few minutes of photographs on the way down, and returned to Tokyo. In an eight-hour tour, the time spent actually sightseeing was probably only fifteen minutes.
Tours like this test a guide’s true ability. You must make sure the day does not feel empty simply because much of it is spent in a vehicle. My trade secret is simple: become close to the guests. If possible, become friends. Once you are friends, they forgive a great deal more.
We talked, laughed, and shared stories about our families and Japan. The atmosphere became warm, and at the end they even gave me a small gift to thank me for the two days we had spent together.
Fifteen minutes of sightseeing does not mean fifteen minutes of satisfaction. A guide’s skill lies in enriching the entire day, including the journey. Keep asking, “How can I help these people take home their best memory of Japan?”
A proper Nikko tour requires at least ten hours. From Tokyo to Kegon Falls or Lake Chuzenji takes roughly three hours each way when traffic is included. That is six hours in the vehicle. Add an hour for lunch, and seven hours are already gone. A normal schedule might leave two hours for Toshogu Shrine, thirty minutes for Kegon Falls, and thirty minutes for Lake Chuzenji.
That day, however, we were scheduled to leave a Shinjuku hotel at 10:00 a.m. and finish at 6:00 p.m. We had only eight hours. Travel and lunch alone would consume nearly seven of them.
I told the guests we would have to choose either Toshogu Shrine or Kegon Falls. They said they wanted to see autumn leaves, so we climbed the winding Irohazaka road and made Kegon Falls our single destination.
Because of traffic, we arrived around 1:40 p.m. The guests had also enjoyed browsing souvenirs at a service area for more than thirty minutes. Before reaching the falls, our only sightseeing had been a two- or three-minute stop to photograph the leaves along Irohazaka.
At Kegon Falls, we spent about ten minutes at the free upper observation deck. An elevator costing 600 yen descends to a platform near the base. From below, you feel the spray and the force of the waterfall is entirely different. Thinking that this might be their only visit to Japan, I recommended it. They declined. They could not know how different the view would be, so I accepted their decision.
We ate lunch, stopped for another few minutes of photographs on the way down, and returned to Tokyo. In an eight-hour tour, the time spent actually sightseeing was probably only fifteen minutes.
Tours like this test a guide’s true ability. You must make sure the day does not feel empty simply because much of it is spent in a vehicle. My trade secret is simple: become close to the guests. If possible, become friends. Once you are friends, they forgive a great deal more.
We talked, laughed, and shared stories about our families and Japan. The atmosphere became warm, and at the end they even gave me a small gift to thank me for the two days we had spent together.
Fifteen minutes of sightseeing does not mean fifteen minutes of satisfaction. A guide’s skill lies in enriching the entire day, including the journey. Keep asking, “How can I help these people take home their best memory of Japan?”
Lesson from this chapter: A guide’s value is not measured by the number of
attractions visited, but by the richness of the entire day, including the time between destinations.
Chapter 6: Even After a Mistake, Your Best Can Turn Things Around
One morning, the travel company had given me the wrong hotel name. I was supposed to meet the guests at the
Keio Plaza Hotel in Shinjuku, but I went to the Dai-ichi Hotel in Shimbashi. As a result, I arrived about
thirty minutes late.
The guests looked understandably unhappy when we finally met. I decided to use every communication skill I had and do everything possible to turn the day into an enjoyable one.
They told me they had already visited most of Tokyo’s major sights on their own. I therefore began in Yanaka, leading them through narrow lanes rarely entered by tourists and streets that still preserve the atmosphere of old downtown Tokyo. They loved it.
After some shopping and a café break, we walked around Sanshiro Pond and the campus of the University of Tokyo. They did not want lunch, so we continued to Tokyo Station, the rooftop garden at KITTE, the observation floor on the thirty-fifth floor of Marunouchi Building, and the views from Marunouchi House in Shin-Marunouchi Building. We finished by walking through the Tokyo International Forum.
After the tour, the company contacted me. The guests had called to say they had had a wonderful time, that I had taken them to places they could never have found alone, and that the tour had been excellent. They no longer cared about the late start.
Being late is not acceptable. Nevertheless, when a mistake has already happened, giving your best afterward can sometimes repair the experience.
I told the president of the travel company that guests do not care whether the original error belonged to the company or the guide. I was the professional standing in front of them, so I apologized sincerely. I did not want a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Japan to become a bad memory. From that point forward, I thought only about how to help them enjoy the day.
By the end, they invited me to stay at their home if I ever visited their country. Later, the company president told me the guests had said, “Aki took us to hidden places we could never have visited alone. The tour was so perfect that we forgot it had started thirty minutes late.”
A true professional does not see a problem only as a problem. A professional recognizes an opportunity to rebuild the experience and acts on it. In life and in guiding, what matters is not merely avoiding mistakes, but what you do after one occurs.
The guests looked understandably unhappy when we finally met. I decided to use every communication skill I had and do everything possible to turn the day into an enjoyable one.
They told me they had already visited most of Tokyo’s major sights on their own. I therefore began in Yanaka, leading them through narrow lanes rarely entered by tourists and streets that still preserve the atmosphere of old downtown Tokyo. They loved it.
After some shopping and a café break, we walked around Sanshiro Pond and the campus of the University of Tokyo. They did not want lunch, so we continued to Tokyo Station, the rooftop garden at KITTE, the observation floor on the thirty-fifth floor of Marunouchi Building, and the views from Marunouchi House in Shin-Marunouchi Building. We finished by walking through the Tokyo International Forum.
After the tour, the company contacted me. The guests had called to say they had had a wonderful time, that I had taken them to places they could never have found alone, and that the tour had been excellent. They no longer cared about the late start.
Being late is not acceptable. Nevertheless, when a mistake has already happened, giving your best afterward can sometimes repair the experience.
I told the president of the travel company that guests do not care whether the original error belonged to the company or the guide. I was the professional standing in front of them, so I apologized sincerely. I did not want a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Japan to become a bad memory. From that point forward, I thought only about how to help them enjoy the day.
By the end, they invited me to stay at their home if I ever visited their country. Later, the company president told me the guests had said, “Aki took us to hidden places we could never have visited alone. The tour was so perfect that we forgot it had started thirty minutes late.”
A true professional does not see a problem only as a problem. A professional recognizes an opportunity to rebuild the experience and acts on it. In life and in guiding, what matters is not merely avoiding mistakes, but what you do after one occurs.
Lesson from this chapter: A professional is not someone who never fails, but
someone who accepts responsibility and knows how to rebuild the experience afterward.
Chapter 7: A Difficult Private Tour — Part 1
I once guided a prominent American family for four days: a husband and wife and three children, mostly in
their teens.
They had entered Japan through Osaka, visited Kyoto, and then continued to Tokyo. In Kyoto, the travel company had arranged two evenings at top-class kaiseki restaurants. Many Japanese people would consider that heaven. The family, however, complained that the meals were too long for children, that they could not eat conger eel, and that a cooked fish with its eyes still visible looked grotesque. Values differ from person to person.
There was also trouble on the journey to Tokyo. The original plan was to meet at Mishima Station and visit Japan’s longest suspension bridge, which offers views of Mount Fuji. Because the weather was cloudy and Fuji was invisible, the family stayed on the train to Tokyo. Unfortunately, reserved seats had not been arranged for the Mishima-to-Tokyo segment. Other passengers boarded at Mishima, and the conductor asked the family to move. Carrying a large amount of luggage, they had to relocate to the non-reserved cars. Angry messages appeared in the WhatsApp group chat before I had even met them.
When I greeted them on the Shinkansen platform at Tokyo Station, they were in a very bad mood. At such a time, there is only one approach: be bright, stay positive, and do everything you can to make Tokyo enjoyable.
After dropping their luggage at the hotel, I asked where they wanted to go. One teenage daughter wanted to shop in Ginza, so we spent about ninety minutes at her chosen store. Next she wanted a fashion shop in Harajuku, but the line was thirty minutes long. When they said they could not wait, I replied, “Leave it to me,” and took them to Omotesando Hills, where they could shop comfortably without worrying about the rain. They spent another ninety minutes there.
Inside, I was thinking, “You came all the way to Japan. I wish you would see Meiji Shrine or the Imperial Palace instead of shopping all day.” The idea of spending four days doing nothing but shopping made my heart sink a little. But this was the work in front of me.
In the car afterward, I asked how the day had been. The parents said, “It was perfect. After Ginza, Aki understood the kind of place we wanted and took us to a large shopping complex where we did not need umbrellas. Everyone has shopped enough and is happy. From tomorrow, take us wherever you think is best.”
I had not pushed what I believed was good. I had helped them do what they wanted, and I had done it beyond their expectations. That earned their trust. Once trust was established, they became open to my suggestions.
The lesson is important: first, fulfill the guest’s wishes as fully as possible. Like a first-class hotel concierge, do not say no too quickly. Once people trust you, they become willing to explore the places and culture you genuinely want to show them.
On a group tour, the responsibility is slightly different. You must deliver the theme and experience promised by the travel company. In Harajuku, help guests experience a fashion district. At Tsukiji, present the food culture and energy of the market. Do not prioritize what you personally want. Maximize both the experience promised by the company and the experience desired by the guest.
The next morning, because the family had told me to choose, and because the father and son loved fishing and wanted omakase sushi, I took them to see the tuna auction at Toyosu.
They had entered Japan through Osaka, visited Kyoto, and then continued to Tokyo. In Kyoto, the travel company had arranged two evenings at top-class kaiseki restaurants. Many Japanese people would consider that heaven. The family, however, complained that the meals were too long for children, that they could not eat conger eel, and that a cooked fish with its eyes still visible looked grotesque. Values differ from person to person.
There was also trouble on the journey to Tokyo. The original plan was to meet at Mishima Station and visit Japan’s longest suspension bridge, which offers views of Mount Fuji. Because the weather was cloudy and Fuji was invisible, the family stayed on the train to Tokyo. Unfortunately, reserved seats had not been arranged for the Mishima-to-Tokyo segment. Other passengers boarded at Mishima, and the conductor asked the family to move. Carrying a large amount of luggage, they had to relocate to the non-reserved cars. Angry messages appeared in the WhatsApp group chat before I had even met them.
When I greeted them on the Shinkansen platform at Tokyo Station, they were in a very bad mood. At such a time, there is only one approach: be bright, stay positive, and do everything you can to make Tokyo enjoyable.
After dropping their luggage at the hotel, I asked where they wanted to go. One teenage daughter wanted to shop in Ginza, so we spent about ninety minutes at her chosen store. Next she wanted a fashion shop in Harajuku, but the line was thirty minutes long. When they said they could not wait, I replied, “Leave it to me,” and took them to Omotesando Hills, where they could shop comfortably without worrying about the rain. They spent another ninety minutes there.
Inside, I was thinking, “You came all the way to Japan. I wish you would see Meiji Shrine or the Imperial Palace instead of shopping all day.” The idea of spending four days doing nothing but shopping made my heart sink a little. But this was the work in front of me.
In the car afterward, I asked how the day had been. The parents said, “It was perfect. After Ginza, Aki understood the kind of place we wanted and took us to a large shopping complex where we did not need umbrellas. Everyone has shopped enough and is happy. From tomorrow, take us wherever you think is best.”
I had not pushed what I believed was good. I had helped them do what they wanted, and I had done it beyond their expectations. That earned their trust. Once trust was established, they became open to my suggestions.
The lesson is important: first, fulfill the guest’s wishes as fully as possible. Like a first-class hotel concierge, do not say no too quickly. Once people trust you, they become willing to explore the places and culture you genuinely want to show them.
On a group tour, the responsibility is slightly different. You must deliver the theme and experience promised by the travel company. In Harajuku, help guests experience a fashion district. At Tsukiji, present the food culture and energy of the market. Do not prioritize what you personally want. Maximize both the experience promised by the company and the experience desired by the guest.
The next morning, because the family had told me to choose, and because the father and son loved fishing and wanted omakase sushi, I took them to see the tuna auction at Toyosu.
Lesson from this chapter: First exceed the guest’s expectations and earn trust.
After that, they will be ready to discover the Japan you most want to share.
Chapter 8: A Difficult Private Tour — Part 2
From the next day, the family tour became even more difficult.
In Japan, parents traveling overseas with children aged ten, fourteen, and sixteen would generally stay together. This family often moved separately. One morning, they left the ten-year-old daughter alone at the hotel while the rest of the family went out.
They wanted to watch the NBA Finals, so I found a sports bar in Shibuya. As soon as we entered, the wife said she was not interested and asked me to take her shopping. She wanted somewhere elegant like Omotesando Hills, so I guided her through the shops at Miyashita Park. Then she asked me to return to the hotel in Nihombashi and collect her daughter.
I appreciated that they trusted me with a ten-year-old child, but the constant splitting of the family made the day extremely difficult to manage. While traveling to the hotel, I was asked to find an art experience. Then the request changed to a sword experience. I found a ninja café in Harajuku and sent the link, only to receive the reply, “That is not what I want.” Next came photographs of a sushi workshop and a manga workshop, with the question, “Can we do either of these?” Same-day sushi workshops were difficult to book, and the beginner manga class had already finished in the morning.
Every few minutes, the desired activity changed. Each time, I had to research availability and travel time. By the time I found an answer, a new request had arrived. I kept searching even on the subway from Nihombashi back to Shibuya.
I know from experience that if a guide takes a shortcut and says, “It could not be booked,” without genuinely checking, there will eventually be consequences. So I continued patiently.
Then a map of Aoyama appeared with the message, “We want somewhere cool like this.” After that came a request to meet at Shibuya Crossing, followed by a desire to walk through Harajuku. Just when things seemed settled, another samurai-experience link arrived.
At last, I admitted I could not manage everything alone. I called Hana at the office and asked her to search for experiences and send me the results. That is one of the great advantages of working as a team.
Throughout the tour, I also felt a cultural discomfort. When I traveled with my own family to New York, London, or Jerusalem, I tried to show my children the landmarks, museums, and experiences available only in that city. This family focused on buying what the children wanted and allowing them to do whatever interested them at that moment.
At Tower Records, their ten-year-old bought ten LP records costing about 5,000 yen each simply because the covers were beautiful. I could not help thinking, “Really?” In Ura-Harajuku, the children bought around ten T-shirts. I worried that they might leave Tokyo having experienced little beyond shopping, animal cafés, ninja activities, and manga.
But that was my standard. People value different things. If shopping in Harajuku carries more meaning for them than visiting Meiji Shrine, then for them it is a meaningful journey. A guide who cannot accept that will never truly serve the guest.
Guests sense our unspoken attitude. If we are inwardly thinking, “How can anyone enjoy this?” they will feel it even if we never say the words. Accepting another person as they are is not easy, especially when their values are far from our own. Yet that is precisely where the work becomes training, both as a guide and as a human being.
In Japan, parents traveling overseas with children aged ten, fourteen, and sixteen would generally stay together. This family often moved separately. One morning, they left the ten-year-old daughter alone at the hotel while the rest of the family went out.
They wanted to watch the NBA Finals, so I found a sports bar in Shibuya. As soon as we entered, the wife said she was not interested and asked me to take her shopping. She wanted somewhere elegant like Omotesando Hills, so I guided her through the shops at Miyashita Park. Then she asked me to return to the hotel in Nihombashi and collect her daughter.
I appreciated that they trusted me with a ten-year-old child, but the constant splitting of the family made the day extremely difficult to manage. While traveling to the hotel, I was asked to find an art experience. Then the request changed to a sword experience. I found a ninja café in Harajuku and sent the link, only to receive the reply, “That is not what I want.” Next came photographs of a sushi workshop and a manga workshop, with the question, “Can we do either of these?” Same-day sushi workshops were difficult to book, and the beginner manga class had already finished in the morning.
Every few minutes, the desired activity changed. Each time, I had to research availability and travel time. By the time I found an answer, a new request had arrived. I kept searching even on the subway from Nihombashi back to Shibuya.
I know from experience that if a guide takes a shortcut and says, “It could not be booked,” without genuinely checking, there will eventually be consequences. So I continued patiently.
Then a map of Aoyama appeared with the message, “We want somewhere cool like this.” After that came a request to meet at Shibuya Crossing, followed by a desire to walk through Harajuku. Just when things seemed settled, another samurai-experience link arrived.
At last, I admitted I could not manage everything alone. I called Hana at the office and asked her to search for experiences and send me the results. That is one of the great advantages of working as a team.
Throughout the tour, I also felt a cultural discomfort. When I traveled with my own family to New York, London, or Jerusalem, I tried to show my children the landmarks, museums, and experiences available only in that city. This family focused on buying what the children wanted and allowing them to do whatever interested them at that moment.
At Tower Records, their ten-year-old bought ten LP records costing about 5,000 yen each simply because the covers were beautiful. I could not help thinking, “Really?” In Ura-Harajuku, the children bought around ten T-shirts. I worried that they might leave Tokyo having experienced little beyond shopping, animal cafés, ninja activities, and manga.
But that was my standard. People value different things. If shopping in Harajuku carries more meaning for them than visiting Meiji Shrine, then for them it is a meaningful journey. A guide who cannot accept that will never truly serve the guest.
Guests sense our unspoken attitude. If we are inwardly thinking, “How can anyone enjoy this?” they will feel it even if we never say the words. Accepting another person as they are is not easy, especially when their values are far from our own. Yet that is precisely where the work becomes training, both as a guide and as a human being.
Lesson from this chapter: Do not reject a way of traveling simply because it
differs from your own values. And when necessary, do not carry everything alone—use the strength of your
team.
Chapter 9: The Heart of Great Tour Guiding
What is the heart of excellent tour guiding? I believe it is the ability to respond pleasantly and with a
smile even when a request feels unreasonable, demanding, or beyond your current ability.
On a private tour, we try to meet the guest’s requests as fully as possible. On a group tour, the judgment is different: the schedule and purpose of the whole group come first. We may accommodate an individual request when time allows, but not when doing so would inconvenience everyone else.
Difficult guests often help a guide grow more than easy guests do. In baseball, if you only practice against a pitcher throwing one hundred kilometers per hour, you will not improve as quickly as you would by facing someone throwing one hundred and sixty.
Of course, the first inner reaction to a difficult request may be, “What a nuisance,” or, “This is going to be hard.” I am still human, too. The important point is not to let that feeling control your attitude.
A professional maintains a smile and a sense of composure. Approach the guest with the atmosphere of saying, “I am a first-class concierge. I will do everything reasonably possible to help.” That attitude gives people confidence and builds trust.
I have learned to view demanding guests as teachers who strengthen me. When I see them that way, even unpleasant experiences gradually become something for which I can feel grateful. Tour guiding is not only work that helps guests discover a place; it is also work that develops the guide.
On a private tour, we try to meet the guest’s requests as fully as possible. On a group tour, the judgment is different: the schedule and purpose of the whole group come first. We may accommodate an individual request when time allows, but not when doing so would inconvenience everyone else.
Difficult guests often help a guide grow more than easy guests do. In baseball, if you only practice against a pitcher throwing one hundred kilometers per hour, you will not improve as quickly as you would by facing someone throwing one hundred and sixty.
Of course, the first inner reaction to a difficult request may be, “What a nuisance,” or, “This is going to be hard.” I am still human, too. The important point is not to let that feeling control your attitude.
A professional maintains a smile and a sense of composure. Approach the guest with the atmosphere of saying, “I am a first-class concierge. I will do everything reasonably possible to help.” That attitude gives people confidence and builds trust.
I have learned to view demanding guests as teachers who strengthen me. When I see them that way, even unpleasant experiences gradually become something for which I can feel grateful. Tour guiding is not only work that helps guests discover a place; it is also work that develops the guide.
Lesson from this chapter: Difficult guests are teachers who train both our
practical ability and our character. Choose a professional attitude rather than acting from emotion.
Chapter 10: The Secret of Becoming a Better Guide Is Objectivity
As an instructor in my son’s tour company, I am often asked for the secret of becoming a good guide. In one
word, my answer is objectivity.
I teach that good guiding rests on three pillars: knowledge of Japanese history and culture, presentation skills, and a spirit of hospitality. Yet beneath all three lies an even more important ability: seeing yourself honestly from the outside.
The moment you decide, “My guiding is already good enough,” your growth stops. During training, ask instructors and fellow trainees directly, “After watching me, is there anything you think I should improve?”
People notice their own strengths more easily than their weaknesses. I have accumulated many experiences and survived a fair number of difficult situations, so I believe I can guide reasonably well. Even so, unless I recognize my weaknesses, I cannot move beyond my present level.
Fortunately, my son is the president of the company. He points out my problems very directly. Even when I am thinking, “After everything I contribute to this company,” he shows no mercy if something needs correcting. Naturally, I sometimes feel irritated for a moment. I am not perfectly enlightened yet.
Still, I know that precisely because I cannot see myself clearly, I must take the feedback seriously and make an effort to improve.
Mature adults rarely point out another person’s faults without being asked. They know it may damage the relationship. Therefore, unless we actively request useful criticism, we may never receive it.
Once trainees begin leading tours alone, guests will rarely write negative points in public reviews unless something is seriously wrong, and almost never say those things directly. The training period, while colleagues and instructors can observe you, is a precious opportunity to obtain information for growth.
When several guides recently left the company to pursue new paths, I asked them to tell me frankly what weaknesses they had seen in my guiding. Their comments were extremely useful. By correcting what they mentioned, I believe I improved not only as a guide but as a person.
Reviews tell you the result of your current guiding. Honest advice from colleagues and instructors tells you the causes producing that result. People who actively ask what they can improve will continue to grow.
I teach that good guiding rests on three pillars: knowledge of Japanese history and culture, presentation skills, and a spirit of hospitality. Yet beneath all three lies an even more important ability: seeing yourself honestly from the outside.
The moment you decide, “My guiding is already good enough,” your growth stops. During training, ask instructors and fellow trainees directly, “After watching me, is there anything you think I should improve?”
People notice their own strengths more easily than their weaknesses. I have accumulated many experiences and survived a fair number of difficult situations, so I believe I can guide reasonably well. Even so, unless I recognize my weaknesses, I cannot move beyond my present level.
Fortunately, my son is the president of the company. He points out my problems very directly. Even when I am thinking, “After everything I contribute to this company,” he shows no mercy if something needs correcting. Naturally, I sometimes feel irritated for a moment. I am not perfectly enlightened yet.
Still, I know that precisely because I cannot see myself clearly, I must take the feedback seriously and make an effort to improve.
Mature adults rarely point out another person’s faults without being asked. They know it may damage the relationship. Therefore, unless we actively request useful criticism, we may never receive it.
Once trainees begin leading tours alone, guests will rarely write negative points in public reviews unless something is seriously wrong, and almost never say those things directly. The training period, while colleagues and instructors can observe you, is a precious opportunity to obtain information for growth.
When several guides recently left the company to pursue new paths, I asked them to tell me frankly what weaknesses they had seen in my guiding. Their comments were extremely useful. By correcting what they mentioned, I believe I improved not only as a guide but as a person.
Reviews tell you the result of your current guiding. Honest advice from colleagues and instructors tells you the causes producing that result. People who actively ask what they can improve will continue to grow.
Lesson from this chapter: Reviews reveal results; candid feedback reveals causes.
The people most committed to growth are the ones willing to ask how they can improve.
Chapter 11: Learn from People Who Are Better Than You
I once joined a Mount Fuji training tour led by Shishyu, a guide from Bangladesh.
He had visited Mount Fuji more than two hundred times, but what impressed me most was his passionate presentation and extraordinary appetite for knowledge. I had joined Fuji tours dozens of times myself, yet his knowledge seemed to exist on another level. He probably knew more than ten times what I normally explained, and he shared it generously with the guests.
At that level, the success of the tour no longer depended only on whether Mount Fuji was visible. Shishyu’s personality, knowledge, and enthusiasm could carry the experience on their own.
The hardest Fuji tours are the rainy or cloudy ones. Guests arrive carrying the image of a perfect mountain under a blue sky, usually taken from the internet. Naturally they are disappointed if the mountain disappears behind clouds. A guide cannot change the weather. The test is how much enjoyment we can create within conditions we cannot control.
The strongest possible outcome is not, “The tour was fun because we saw Mount Fuji,” but, “The tour was fun because Shishyu was our guide.”
When you meet someone better than you, there is no need to become discouraged or competitive. Learn openly and bring what is useful into your own work. Becoming a better guide requires more than increasing knowledge. Watch the passion, voice, pacing, and way an excellent guide relates to guests.
He had visited Mount Fuji more than two hundred times, but what impressed me most was his passionate presentation and extraordinary appetite for knowledge. I had joined Fuji tours dozens of times myself, yet his knowledge seemed to exist on another level. He probably knew more than ten times what I normally explained, and he shared it generously with the guests.
At that level, the success of the tour no longer depended only on whether Mount Fuji was visible. Shishyu’s personality, knowledge, and enthusiasm could carry the experience on their own.
The hardest Fuji tours are the rainy or cloudy ones. Guests arrive carrying the image of a perfect mountain under a blue sky, usually taken from the internet. Naturally they are disappointed if the mountain disappears behind clouds. A guide cannot change the weather. The test is how much enjoyment we can create within conditions we cannot control.
The strongest possible outcome is not, “The tour was fun because we saw Mount Fuji,” but, “The tour was fun because Shishyu was our guide.”
When you meet someone better than you, there is no need to become discouraged or competitive. Learn openly and bring what is useful into your own work. Becoming a better guide requires more than increasing knowledge. Watch the passion, voice, pacing, and way an excellent guide relates to guests.
Lesson from this chapter: A person more capable than you is not merely a
competitor, but a living textbook. Learn not only facts, but passion, delivery, and the ability to create
the atmosphere of a tour.
Chapter 12: Develop Your Character Through Your Work
Having been born and raised in Japan, I find the idea of developing one’s character through work completely
natural. I approach work with a feeling similar to spiritual training in a Zen temple.
The idea extends beyond employment. Eating, cleaning a toilet, organizing a room—every daily action can become practice that refines the person performing it. In Japanese schools, children clean their own classrooms and put things in order. They greet others respectfully and learn to consider harmony with the group rather than only asserting their own wishes.
Japanese people do not always live up to these ideals perfectly. Nevertheless, the value of giving careful, wholehearted attention to the task in front of us remains alive in everyday Japanese life.
When I guide, I try to learn through the work and to give my best to the present moment. Even when a request appears impossible, I avoid saying no immediately. I try first. If it succeeds, the guest is happy, and my own ability and character also grow.
Among the guides in my son’s company, those who receive the highest evaluations share a common quality. They engage seriously with guests’ questions and requests and keep asking, “How can I make this journey through Japan more enjoyable?”
Knowledge of history and culture, English ability, and presentation skills are important. Yet the deeper qualification is the willingness to ask, in this very moment, “What can I do for the guest in front of me?” and then act with care.
The idea extends beyond employment. Eating, cleaning a toilet, organizing a room—every daily action can become practice that refines the person performing it. In Japanese schools, children clean their own classrooms and put things in order. They greet others respectfully and learn to consider harmony with the group rather than only asserting their own wishes.
Japanese people do not always live up to these ideals perfectly. Nevertheless, the value of giving careful, wholehearted attention to the task in front of us remains alive in everyday Japanese life.
When I guide, I try to learn through the work and to give my best to the present moment. Even when a request appears impossible, I avoid saying no immediately. I try first. If it succeeds, the guest is happy, and my own ability and character also grow.
Among the guides in my son’s company, those who receive the highest evaluations share a common quality. They engage seriously with guests’ questions and requests and keep asking, “How can I make this journey through Japan more enjoyable?”
Knowledge of history and culture, English ability, and presentation skills are important. Yet the deeper qualification is the willingness to ask, in this very moment, “What can I do for the guest in front of me?” and then act with care.
Lesson from this chapter: Guiding is not merely a stage for displaying knowledge.
It is also a form of practice through which our everyday actions refine our character.
Chapter 13: The True Meaning of a Japanese Festival
To someone who has never experienced a traditional downtown festival, a Japanese matsuri may look like
nothing more than people drinking, carrying a portable shrine, and occasionally even getting into fights. To
be fair, that description is not entirely wrong.
But my reason for participating is different. For me, a festival is a special time when I can feel the spirits of my ancestors close to me.
For someone born and raised in Tokyo’s old downtown neighborhoods, the festival is one of the most important events of the year. Some people seem to devote their whole lives to it. During those two days, ordinary social rules become a little looser and people in the neighborhood enjoy themselves together without conditions.
The festival therefore contains memories from every stage of childhood. While preparing or carrying the mikoshi, memories of my late father and grandparents return naturally. Even now, I sometimes feel their presence nearby.
In my heart, I speak to them: “Father, this is how I am living now.” “Grandfather, Grandmother, I am doing well.” The festival becomes a place where I thank my ancestors and report on the life I am living.
Walking through the neighborhood beneath the mikoshi while feeling their energy is one of the happiest experiences I know.
People enjoy festivals in different ways. Some feel a spiritual meaning. Others simply enjoy drinking and making noise. Neither is the only correct way. A festival is free; everyone may find their own form of joy.
To outsiders it can look rough. To people who understand it, even the roughness can contain iki—a sense of stylish spirit and local beauty. A festival accepts purity and chaos together. Age and social position disappear. Children and adults, wealthy people and ordinary workers all find a place in the same world.
For two days, it feels as though we are living in another reality: open, liberated, and accepting of people as they are. Sometimes I think, “Perhaps this is what it means to accept life in its entirety.”
That is why, when someone says we must assemble at 5:30 in the morning to carry the main shrine, I do not think, “That is terribly early.” I feel excited: “The festival is beginning again!”
But my reason for participating is different. For me, a festival is a special time when I can feel the spirits of my ancestors close to me.
For someone born and raised in Tokyo’s old downtown neighborhoods, the festival is one of the most important events of the year. Some people seem to devote their whole lives to it. During those two days, ordinary social rules become a little looser and people in the neighborhood enjoy themselves together without conditions.
The festival therefore contains memories from every stage of childhood. While preparing or carrying the mikoshi, memories of my late father and grandparents return naturally. Even now, I sometimes feel their presence nearby.
In my heart, I speak to them: “Father, this is how I am living now.” “Grandfather, Grandmother, I am doing well.” The festival becomes a place where I thank my ancestors and report on the life I am living.
Walking through the neighborhood beneath the mikoshi while feeling their energy is one of the happiest experiences I know.
People enjoy festivals in different ways. Some feel a spiritual meaning. Others simply enjoy drinking and making noise. Neither is the only correct way. A festival is free; everyone may find their own form of joy.
To outsiders it can look rough. To people who understand it, even the roughness can contain iki—a sense of stylish spirit and local beauty. A festival accepts purity and chaos together. Age and social position disappear. Children and adults, wealthy people and ordinary workers all find a place in the same world.
For two days, it feels as though we are living in another reality: open, liberated, and accepting of people as they are. Sometimes I think, “Perhaps this is what it means to accept life in its entirety.”
That is why, when someone says we must assemble at 5:30 in the morning to carry the main shrine, I do not think, “That is terribly early.” I feel excited: “The festival is beginning again!”
Lesson from this chapter: The festival’s ability to embrace different values,
spirituality, disorder, and joy offers a lesson in seeing people and life as they are.
Chapter 14: Send the Child You Love Out into the World
Watching Japan’s national football team makes me reflect on growth.
About thirty years ago, when Japan first challenged the world’s biggest stage, the gap between Japan and the strongest nations was enormous. If one key player was absent, the whole team’s level could fall sharply. Today, even when several leading players are missing, others can compete at a high international level.
One major reason is that many Japanese players now live and compete overseas, facing the world’s best as part of everyday life. Players who once seemed like distant stars are now opponents they meet every week in league matches. Placing yourself in a demanding environment accelerates growth.
This observation makes me look back on my own life. In my twenties, I lived in India for about two years. In my late thirties, I spent roughly six months traveling through Europe and the United States on a lecture tour. Those experiences influenced the rest of my life beyond measure.
Because I had faced difficult environments abroad, later hardships could be put into perspective. I could tell myself, “Compared with living in India, this is not so serious,” or, “Compared with the things students said to me during lectures in America, this is manageable.” Those memories gave me strength to overcome later difficulties.
I see the same effect in my son. From the age of fifteen to eighteen, he attended high school in Israel. He learned Hebrew as well as English and lived in a dormitory with young people from around thirty countries. Living away from his parents transformed him. Compared with many Japanese people of the same age, his presentation skills and leadership are striking.
Both my son and I were deeply shaped by experiences abroad while we were young. A Japanese proverb says, “Send the child you love on a journey.” Its wisdom is that challenge, distance, and unfamiliarity can enrich an entire life.
Today I work as a guide in my son’s company. By communicating Japanese values and ways of behaving, perhaps I can help make the lives of international guests a little richer. That is why I offer the best hospitality I can.
Guests learn not only from our explanations, but from our conduct. Through what we do, they sense the Japanese thinking behind the words. I try to present history and culture as entertainingly as one of Japan’s great television comedians, and to maintain the warmth and cheerfulness of an excellent Disney cast member throughout the tour.
Guiding is the work of showing Japan to people from abroad. At the same time, it connects Japan and the world and may enrich the lives of both guest and guide.
About thirty years ago, when Japan first challenged the world’s biggest stage, the gap between Japan and the strongest nations was enormous. If one key player was absent, the whole team’s level could fall sharply. Today, even when several leading players are missing, others can compete at a high international level.
One major reason is that many Japanese players now live and compete overseas, facing the world’s best as part of everyday life. Players who once seemed like distant stars are now opponents they meet every week in league matches. Placing yourself in a demanding environment accelerates growth.
This observation makes me look back on my own life. In my twenties, I lived in India for about two years. In my late thirties, I spent roughly six months traveling through Europe and the United States on a lecture tour. Those experiences influenced the rest of my life beyond measure.
Because I had faced difficult environments abroad, later hardships could be put into perspective. I could tell myself, “Compared with living in India, this is not so serious,” or, “Compared with the things students said to me during lectures in America, this is manageable.” Those memories gave me strength to overcome later difficulties.
I see the same effect in my son. From the age of fifteen to eighteen, he attended high school in Israel. He learned Hebrew as well as English and lived in a dormitory with young people from around thirty countries. Living away from his parents transformed him. Compared with many Japanese people of the same age, his presentation skills and leadership are striking.
Both my son and I were deeply shaped by experiences abroad while we were young. A Japanese proverb says, “Send the child you love on a journey.” Its wisdom is that challenge, distance, and unfamiliarity can enrich an entire life.
Today I work as a guide in my son’s company. By communicating Japanese values and ways of behaving, perhaps I can help make the lives of international guests a little richer. That is why I offer the best hospitality I can.
Guests learn not only from our explanations, but from our conduct. Through what we do, they sense the Japanese thinking behind the words. I try to present history and culture as entertainingly as one of Japan’s great television comedians, and to maintain the warmth and cheerfulness of an excellent Disney cast member throughout the tour.
Guiding is the work of showing Japan to people from abroad. At the same time, it connects Japan and the world and may enrich the lives of both guest and guide.
Lesson from this chapter: Exposure to high standards and unfamiliar cultures
develops resilience, perspective, leadership, and the ability to communicate.
Conclusion: Give Your Best to the Person in Front of You
During these three years as a guide, I have learned many things.
Do not impose your values; think from the guest’s point of view. When you make a mistake, do not hide behind excuses; give your best afterward. Do not run from difficult requests; respond with a smile. Learn openly from people who are better than you, and examine your own weaknesses objectively. Treat every kind of work as practice that develops your character.
When I first began guiding, my desire to communicate the wonders of Japan was so strong that I sometimes prioritized what I wanted to show and what I wanted to explain. In reality, what I want to present and what a guest wants to experience do not always match.
Therefore, first know the person. Understand what they want and respond to their expectations as fully as possible. Then use your knowledge and experience to create something that goes slightly beyond those expectations. That, I believe, is the work of a good guide.
I am sixty-five, yet guiding has shown me that I can still grow. Difficult guests, mistakes, and unexpected events are all new lessons in life.
I will continue taking a genuine interest in the guest in front of me and asking what might bring that person joy. I will use all the knowledge, experience, smiles, and humor I possess to help make their journey through Japan unforgettable.
A good guide is not someone who knows everything. A good guide is someone who remains interested in the person in front of them, keeps thinking on that person’s behalf, and continues changing and improving.
Lead guests with confidence, but be more humble than anyone when learning. When you fail, recover through action rather than excuses. Whatever the day brings, keep your smile and your sense of humor.
I intend to keep walking Tokyo as though it were my own backyard. For every guest, I will do my best to create a day they can remember as: “That was an unforgettable day in Japan because I spent it with Aki.”
Do not impose your values; think from the guest’s point of view. When you make a mistake, do not hide behind excuses; give your best afterward. Do not run from difficult requests; respond with a smile. Learn openly from people who are better than you, and examine your own weaknesses objectively. Treat every kind of work as practice that develops your character.
When I first began guiding, my desire to communicate the wonders of Japan was so strong that I sometimes prioritized what I wanted to show and what I wanted to explain. In reality, what I want to present and what a guest wants to experience do not always match.
Therefore, first know the person. Understand what they want and respond to their expectations as fully as possible. Then use your knowledge and experience to create something that goes slightly beyond those expectations. That, I believe, is the work of a good guide.
I am sixty-five, yet guiding has shown me that I can still grow. Difficult guests, mistakes, and unexpected events are all new lessons in life.
I will continue taking a genuine interest in the guest in front of me and asking what might bring that person joy. I will use all the knowledge, experience, smiles, and humor I possess to help make their journey through Japan unforgettable.
A good guide is not someone who knows everything. A good guide is someone who remains interested in the person in front of them, keeps thinking on that person’s behalf, and continues changing and improving.
Lead guests with confidence, but be more humble than anyone when learning. When you fail, recover through action rather than excuses. Whatever the day brings, keep your smile and your sense of humor.
I intend to keep walking Tokyo as though it were my own backyard. For every guest, I will do my best to create a day they can remember as: “That was an unforgettable day in Japan because I spent it with Aki.”