John Eliot Williams

Short Stories from Australia Part 2:

Australia /

Winter losing her phone (again) While we were in Bali, Winter lost her phone—and this time, it didn’t come back. It was stolen, gone for good. We chalked it up to travel chaos and got her a replacement once we landed in Australia. All seemed well… for about 24 hours. The very next day, we were on our way back from Hastings Street in Noosa Heads, full and sun-drenched, when we stepped off the bus and Winter said, “I left my phone on the bus.”I laughed. I thought she was messing with me.Then I saw her face. This was no joke. We both pulled out Find My iPhone and watched in horror as the little dot traveled farther and farther down the Sunshine Coast. First 10 miles. Then 20. Suddenly it was 60 miles away. Déjà vu, but with better WiFi.Thankfully, this story has a happier ending than Bali. The bus driver found it and actually gave me a call. Relief hit. The next day, we made the pilgrimage to a bus transfer station that felt like it had been placed on the map by accident. Even my Aunt Paula, who knows the area, responded with, “Where?” We took a few buses down to the coast and eventually Ubered to this remote outpost where, to our great relief, the phone was waiting. The lost had been found.  We took a few buses down to the Sunshine coast and eventually Ubered to this remote transfer station where we luckily recovered the phone.  Our Uber driver, a kind Punjabi man with a big heart and sympathy for our story, offered to take us on a scenic detour to spot some Kangaroos after we had told him we had not seen any yet. As we pulled over and saw them hopping through the field, it was hard not to smile. Somehow, a lost phone turned into a chance to see wild kangaroos. And honestly? Not a bad trade. Rainbow Beach, Carlo Sandblow and K’gari  Winter and I decided to take a trip up to Rainbow beach, which is a jumping off point for the UNESCO World Heritage site K’gari island, formerly known as Fraser.  It was originally named Fraser island after Captain James Fraser, who had become shipwrecked on the island and was subsequently killed by a Butchella native in 1836. But the island was renamed in 2021 to its aboriginal name K’gari, meaning “Paradise.”  The day before our K’gari trip we decided to visit the renowned natural formation called “Carlo Sandblow.” I insisted to Winter that we see this. We were both tired when we arrived at Rainbow beach, and she remarked “you are taking me to see a bunch of sand?” But later she gladly ate those words. Carlo Sandblow is like being on another planet. It is only a short walk (20 minutes or so) from the center of Rainbow beach. It can be best described as a giant beach with parabolic sand dunes on top of a mountain, sand in every direction. Some people even sandboard down the steep slopes. We have pictures of it in the photo gallery, but as everyone who visits says, pictures do not do this place justice. We stayed for the most beautiful sunset of our entire trip and descended back down, ready for our trip to K’gari the following day. We did a day tour with K’gari tours. Our tour guide John had grown up near and spent many years on the island and was full of knowledge. He was a true Aussie with his wit and humor. He warned us that if we were late for the bus he would make us sit next to him and perform karaoke for the entire group.   We traveled in our 4-wheel drive bus, holding about 20 of us up to the famous Lake Mckenzie. Due to its low ph level, which hovers between 3.7-4.1, (compared to the normal 6-7) algae cannot grow in this lake. The side effect of this is it is crystal clear. On the way up and down you had to watch yourself for snakes, spiders, and Dingos. The Dingo signs were everywhere. The week before our arrival a woman had been mauled and hospitalized by a pack of these wild dogs.  After our swim at lake Mckenzie, we made our way to Pile Valley where we learned about and saw the world renowned Satinay trees. K’gari is the only place in the world where these trees grow, and their most important properties; they don’t rot, and resist both fire and termites, made them a preferred choice for builders in the 19th and 20th century. Satinay lumber has been used in the building of the Suez Canal, the London Docks, and many more projects around the world.  We made our way back for lunch after the morning’s adventures. Our driver, John, gave us a heads-up: “It’s going to be a little bumpy.” That was an understatement. We were jostling so hard it felt like the 4WD bus was auditioning for a rodeo. At times, it honestly seemed like we might tip sideways into the ravine — but somehow, we clung on and made it in one piece. After demolishing the buffet lunch (no shame — we were determined to get our money’s worth), we set off again, this time cruising along the iconic 75 Mile Beach. We stopped to marvel at the rainbow-colored sand cliffs, the rusting skeleton of the S.S. Maheno, and swam into the crystal-clear — and absolutely freezing — Wanggoolba Creek. The sand cliffs were a geological marvel, like a natural time capsule carved by wind and water. They boasted 72 distinct shades — from deep reds to bright yellows, burnt oranges to inky blacks. Each hue told a story, shaped by different minerals, ages, and the slow chemistry of nature at work. It was like seeing the past layered into the earth, right in front of us. Just a few miles down the beach, we came across

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Short Stories from Australia – Part 1:

Australia /

I have fallen behind on writing blog posts, I am currently trying to catch up while in Europe. Part 2 to come hopefully within the next week.  The Arrival: Flying in a Ghost plane  Arriving in Australia from Bali felt surreal—not because of culture shock or jet lag, but because the flight itself was practically a ghost ship. Of the 300 seats on board, maybe 30 were occupied. It was eerie. Every passenger had their own row, stretched out like royalty in economy class. What made it stranger was the route. Bali is a hotspot for Aussie vacationers—you’d expect a packed flight, not this floating lounge. But thanks to the mercurial algorithms that run airline pricing, I ended up horizontal for most of a six-hour flight. It was one of those rare moments where the chaos of modern travel bent in our favor. Sydney: The Pitstop The main reason we flew into Sydney—like so many of our decisions on this trip—came down to one thing: price. Simply put, it was the cheapest option. We could only afford to stay for two nights, but I’m glad we made the stop. We stayed in a hostel near the very center of Sydney called 790 on George (George Street) right in the heart of the city. It was everything a budget traveler could ask for: central, busy, and packed with backpackers from around the world—young solo travelers, older adventurers, even a few families. It wasn’t fancy, but it did its job. And if you’re looking to party, odds are you’ll find your crew here. Winter and I took a day trip to Manly, which is an iconic beach suburb of Sydney known for its relaxed vibe and golden sand. The ferry ride itself was worth the trip. The ferry ride takes you right through Sydney Harbor, right by the Opera House. It was such a beautiful building and definitely a highlight. But I have to admit, after seeing it in so many photos, videos, and movies, I expected it to be….. Bigger. Not in a disappointing way, it really is a stunning structure, but the scale caught me off guard. It made the building feel more human, which was actually a refreshing feeling.  The ride on the ferry was gorgeous as we got to see the entire city skyline for 20 minutes each way. We spent the day relaxing on the beach of course, and took a walk up to Shellyhead lookout. We met an Iguana buddy at the top, who I promptly named Igor. We took in the views of Manly beach and the Tasman sea as we relaxed with our new friend Igor. We then said goodbye to our short lived friend and returned to our hostel.  Flying Jetstar:  Let me tell you – flying Jetstar is brutal when it comes to baggage. These people do not paly games when it comes to weight limits. So far on our trip, although our carry on bags were consistently over 7kg, most airlines -even budget airlines like Vietjet- did not seem to care as long as it wasn’t egregiously over 7kg. Jetstar? Not so forgiving.  Despite our checked bags being 8kg under our limit, they forced us to redistribute 4kg from our carry-on bags, (we were both about 2kg over) to our checked luggage. Naturally, II did some cheating, leaving items on the ground before putting them back into my backpack after they passed weigh-in. Apparently Jetstar is used to people getting by, because they had another weigh-in right before you board at the discretion of the gate agent. We accidentally wandered in line for the second weigh-in, and I was preparing for the 70 AUD for being over. Then came the voice -“I didn’t tell you to get in this line” snapped the gate agent, (she seemed like she had been doing this job for too long) Whew. We had officially beaten Jetstar and were on our way to Brisbane.  Brisbane When we arrived in Brisbane, Jackie, who is my Aunt Paula’s former in-law, (my cousins’ aunt) graciously picked us up. I hadn’t seen Jackie since I was 4 years old, when both her and my father lost a few fingers within a month of each other. Strange connection to remember someone by, but that is life.  Jackie treated us like family from the moment we arrived. She introduced us to her children, Zanna, Destiny, and Heath. A truly lovely bunch. We only had a half a day with Jackie before she went away for the weekend for a music festival, but in that short time she gave us the grand tour of Brisbane and caught us up on life over the past couple decades   One of the first things we learned in Brisbane, courtesy of Zanna, is that Winter and I have “very american accents.” We had gotten this a few times in Australia, which is funny because I don’t think most Americans would say we have strong accents, albeit I do pronounce my R’s a little funny. We talked to Zanna and her friend who were a few years younger than us about the state of America, and fielded all of their questions.  We touched on a wide range of topics, some light, many not. , They were particularly shocked by the state of US healthcare (or lack thereof), the normalization of gun violence (especially involving kids), and a few things we both grapple with in our countries, like domestic violence and the treatment of vulnerable populations such as the elderly and disabled. These kind of conversations, honest, curious, peer-to-peer, are some of my favorite parts of traveling. You get to see your home country through the lens of someone else’s eyes. It can really put things in perspective.  Zanna and her friend also warned us half-heartedly about the local “eshays” , a group of Australian local kids who hang around in packs, get into fights, do drugs, and are apparently into wearing Nike TN trainers. The best cultural

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Inside Rajadamnern: A Night at Thailand’s Most Iconic Muay Thai Stadium – March 16th

Thailand /

Muay Thai, pronounced “moo-ey, Thai” in Thailand, is a martial art that evolved from Muay Boran, an ancient Thai fighting style dating back to the 13th–15th century. Originally practiced by both soldiers and civilians, Muay Boran served as both a self-defense system and a form of combat training. The modern sport of Muay Thai began to take shape in the 1920s–1930s, incorporating rules, gloves, and timed rounds. Rajadamnern Stadium, established in 1945, became one of the key venues for its development and remains one of the most prestigious places for martial artists to showcase their skills.             The fighters who compete in the Rajadamnern World Series (RWS) are true professionals.  For them, Muay Thai isn’t a hobby—it’s a livelihood. Many begin training as early as age 6 or 7, dedicating their lives to the sport.  Unlike Western combat sports, where fighters typically compete 2-6 fights a year, Muay Thai athletes in the RWS regularly battle 12-20 times annually– some stepping into the ring every other week. As a result, it is common for athletes in their 20’s can have 100+ fights under their belt, while a Western fighter might only have accumulated a few dozen across their entire career. Only the most disciplined and skilled fighters make it to the RWS, and those who do are widely regarded as some of the best Muay Thai practitioners in the world.             On March 16th, we scored front-row tickets to one of the daily fight nights—a four-hour event featuring seven different bouts. Each fight lasted up to five rounds, ending by knockout or technical knockout when a fighter could no longer continue. This was the kind of stage where young fighters come to make a name for themselves. The youngest fighter we saw that night was just 15, and the oldest was 28. Seats like these in the West would cost tens of thousands of dollars or more—so by comparison, this was an absolute steal. The only mistake we made was not realizing our seats were just feet from the fight bell. Ding, ding, ding—our ears were literally ringing every time it sounded. Even before the fights started, the front row seats were already paying off. The announcer locked eyes with me and, in front of the whole crowd, asked, “Do you want a free shirt?” Caught off guard, I could only nod before he tossed it my way.             Before each fight, the competitors performed a ceremony called Wai Khru Ram Muay (ไหว้ครูรำมวย). “Wai Khru” means “paying respect to the teacher,” and it’s done to honor one’s coaches, family, and the art of Muay Thai itself. “Ram Muay” means “boxing dance,” and this part is more personal—each fighter moves around the ring in a dance-like pattern unique to them. No two fighters perform it the same; their movements can reflect their region, training camp, or even individual style and preference. Wai Khru Ram Muay is both a spiritual and cultural ritual, meant to clear the mind and prepare for battle. It is accompanied by live traditional music such as the reed flute and drums.             Ironically, the main event—the fourth fight—was the least competitive. By the final round, both fighters were just circling each other and trading taunts, barely throwing any strikes. The crowd let them hear it, booing loudly in disappointment. In contrast, the first three fights were intense and evenly matched. The second bout was especially brutal: one fighter continued with blood smeared across his face and body, only to eventually fall to a vicious head kick that ended the fight in a dramatic knockout.             An interesting fact about Thailand is that gambling is illegal in almost all forms, with few exceptions. However, Muay Thai stadiums like Rajadamnern are one of the rare legal avenues where locals can place bets. And they do—enthusiastically. While tourists come for the spectacle, it’s mostly locals who fill the seats, shouting odds and making hand signals to place wagers mid-fight. The energy in the crowd isn’t just about supporting a favorite fighter—it’s about the thrill of risking real money, legally, in a country where that’s rarely allowed.             Attending Rajadamnern was a true cultural experience. Sitting front row—right next to the constant, ear-piercing dings of the fight bell—made it unforgettable. It’s something we’ll always remember, and without a doubt, something we’d do again.

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Phu Quoc, Vietnam’s Plastic Paradise

Vietnam /

Winter and I spent eight days in Phu Quoc, the so-called ‘Hawaii of Vietnam’—at least, that’s how it’s marketed. It’s also the only place in Vietnam where you can get a visa on arrival, a detail that speaks volumes about its role as a tourist playground rather than a genuine cultural destination. Now that I’ve left Vietnam, I can finally be honest: Phu Quoc is not the paradise it pretends to be.   Phu Quoc has incredible potential, but the first red flag appeared as soon as we arrived in ‘Sunset Town’—a bizarre recreation of Venice, complete with a replica of the Campanile di San Marco towering over the town square. A faux Italian city on a Vietnamese island wasn’t necessarily a dealbreaker, but the atmosphere was unsettling. The streets were eerily empty, with nearly 90 percent of the buildings abandoned, yet construction rumbled on, as if building more would somehow summon the missing people.    One of Phu Quoc’s biggest issues is plastic waste. Now, this isn’t unique to the island—Vietnam, and SouthEast Asia as a whole struggles with plastic pollution. But in Phu Quoc, the problem is particularly glaring. Take Sao Beach, for example, a place often advertised as one of the ‘most beautiful beaches in Asia.’ In reality, it felt more like a public landfill than a tropical paradise. Seeing the sheer amount of trash, I wanted to help, even in some small way. I spent hours searching for an organization or charity dedicated to cleaning up the island. Frustratingly, I found nothing. The closest thing was a group that had organized beach cleanups back in 2023, but they seemed to have disappeared. As a tourist, without a proper way to dispose of the waste or the right tools, organizing my own cleanup wasn’t realistic. The real issue isn’t just the plastic itself—many countries struggle with that—it’s the fact that in 2025, there appears to be no one even trying to solve it, despite the fact 16.5-20 tons of trash leaks into the environment DAILY. (about 87% is plastic waste).    On a more positive note, the Hòn Thơm Cable Car—officially the longest three-wire cable car in the world—was absolutely worth it. Floating high above the turquoise waters, it offered breathtaking panoramic views of Phu Quoc, Dừa and Roi Islets, and Hòn Thơm itself, stretching nearly five miles across the sea. Winter and I spent the day in Hòn Thơm at ‘Aquatopia,’ a water park clearly designed with foreign tourists in mind—particularly Russians. We had a blast—though, unfortunately, both of us ended up sick the next day. The water park itself was modern and well-maintained, but with admission prices equated to roughly an eighth of the average Vietnamese monthly wage for just a single day, it was clear this place wasn’t built for locals – albeit, it seemed to be a large employer.   Phu Quoc was an experience, and I’m glad we went. But if I’m being honest, it’s probably a place I’ll never return to—at least not without major changes. The island may have its moments, but I found myself missing the raw, chaotic energy of Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City—the places that felt alive, unpredictable, and unmistakably Vietnamese. In contrast, Phu Quoc felt like a plastic paradise, built more for tourists than for those seeking an authentic slice of Vietnam.

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The Hanoi Hilton, Vietnam – February 21st Part 1

The Hanoi Hilton, Vietnam /

On our first full day in Vietnam, we visited the infamous Hỏa Lò Prison, better known as the Hanoi Hilton. The imposing structure loomed before us, its entrance marked by the chilling inscription Maison Centrale—a relic of its colonial origins. Built by the French in 1886 and operational even before its completion in 1901, this prison became a symbol of oppression long before the Vietnam War. During the war, it housed American POWs—whom the Vietnamese ironically dubbed “special visitors”—including John McCain, whose flight suit remains on display as a stark reminder of the prison’s layered history. The Hỏa Lò Prison complex, now a museum dedicated to its grim past, opens with a stark reminder of its colonial legacy. That legacy can be summed up in one word: torture. Prisoners were crammed into suffocating cells, packed shoulder to shoulder, while others were subjected to isolation chambers so inhumane they seemed designed to break the spirit before the body. In these chambers, ankle shackles locked captives onto a declining slope, forcing them into agonizing positions where sleep was nearly impossible. The French perfected the art of suffering, ensuring that imprisonment here was not just a sentence—it was a slow, calculated destruction of the human will. Designed to hold 450 inmates, the prison regularly housed more than 2,000, the vast majority being political prisoners. But the overcrowding was just the beginning. Towering over the exhibits, one of the most menacing relics of this era remains: the guillotine. Beside it, haunting photographs of its victims stare out from history, silent witnesses to their own brutal fate. The horror did not end at execution—prisoners were often paraded back to their home villages, their severed heads displayed as a warning to others. The French even took photographs of the heads, a grotesque trophy of colonial dominance, as if cruelty itself was something to be immortalized.  The prison didn’t shy away from its role in the Vietnam War—but the portrayal of American POWs was noticeably sanitized.  Their suffering was conspicuously absent, replaced with a carefully curated narrative that framed them as “special visitors” rather than prisoners. The exhibits were hesitant to even call them prisoners, with terms like “special visitors” used instead. The exhibits downplayed the brutal conditions and interrogations, instead choosing to highlight moments where Vietnamese doctors and civilians saved American lives. While I expected some degree of revisionism, this version of events felt like a deliberate erasure of the harsher realities. It was history—just not the whole truth.One aspect that did stand out as more balanced, however, was the museum’s recognition of John McCain’s post-war legacy. Unlike the whitewashed portrayal of POW experiences, McCain’s efforts to rebuild U.S.-Vietnam relations were given notable respect. His multiple visits back to the prison, once a place of his greatest suffering, were framed as acts of diplomacy and reconciliation. The museum even honored his contributions, acknowledging his role in normalizing relations between the two former enemies. In a space so reluctant to acknowledge American hardship, it was striking to see McCain’s name treated with such regard. As Nelson Mandela once said “No one truly knows a nation until one has been inside its jails.” Few can claim to know Vietnam as intimately as John McCain, a man who endured years of imprisonment within its walls. Yet, when given the chance to hold onto resentment, he chose a different path—not vengeance, but reconciliation. Instead of letting his suffering define his legacy, he worked to heal the wounds of war, proving that even in the face of unimaginable hardship, peace is a choice we can still make. Perhaps that’s a lesson worth remembering.   -John

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Vietnamese Folklore Comes to Life: Hanoi’s Water Puppet Theater – February 21st Part 2

Vietnam /

At the end of our first day in Hanoi, we immersed ourselves in one of Vietnam’s most enchanting cultural experiences—the Thang Long Water Puppet Theater. This mesmerizing art form, dating back over 1,000 years, originated in the Red River Delta, where villagers once performed with puppets over flooded rice paddies. Today, this tradition thrives at Thang Long, the only water puppet theater in Asia that runs performances year-round. Recognized by UNESCO as an intangible cultural heritage, the show brings Vietnam’s folklore to life with intricately carved wooden puppets dancing effortlessly over water, guided by hidden puppeteers. Accompanied by a live orchestra playing traditional Vietnamese instruments, the performance was a vibrant blend of storytelling, music, and artistry—truly a cultural delicacy to experience in Hanoi. These artists have perfected their craft with unwavering precision, turning each performance into a seamless spectacle. With six shows a day, each lasting just one hour, they bring 17 captivating scenes to life—every moment infused with centuries of tradition. From mythical dragons to village festivities, each act is a glimpse into Vietnam’s rich cultural tapestry, masterfully executed with rhythm, grace, and an almost hypnotic flow. The only drawback? The lack of etiquette from the audience—mostly Western tourists. Bright flashes from cameras lit up the theater despite clear no-flash signs, and at one point, a couple in front of us hoisted their child high in the air, bouncing them on their lap as the little one shouted loudly, completely ignored by their parents. It was a frustrating reminder of how some people seem oblivious to those around them, both fellow spectators and the dedicated performers on stage. That said, don’t let this deter you—the magic of the show far outweighs the distractions. If you’re in Hanoi, this experience should be at the top of your list.-John

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My favorite day in Japan – February 16th

1 Comment / Japan /

February 16th: My favorite day in Japan    February 16th wasn’t just one of our final days in Japan—it was the day that captured everything I loved about this incredible country. A perfect blend of history, culture, food, and art, all shared with good company. We kicked things off by meeting my cousin, Nikolai, at the Tokyo National Museum, an absolute treasure trove of Japan’s rich past. While the Hello Kitty special exhibit was drawing quite the crowd (understandably so), we decided to dive straight into the heart of tradition: the main hall. The highlight for me? The kimonos. These weren’t just clothes; they were wearable masterpieces, each thread telling its own story. The intricate patterns, vivid colors, and delicate embroidery weren’t just beautiful—they were reflections of Japan’s centuries-old dedication to craftsmanship. Every stitch carried whispers of history, signaling not just fashion, but status, symbolism, and artistic expression passed down through generations. Of course, no deep dive into Japan’s cultural legacy would be complete without samurai armor and katanas. Each piece felt like it had its own spirit—echoes of battles fought and honor preserved. The sheer detail in the armor was mesmerizing, from the layered plates to the menacing masks. If you have any fascination with Japan’s warrior past, this museum is a must-see. After soaking up the history, we stumbled upon a lively festival right outside the museum. The air buzzed with music, laughter, and the irresistible smell of street food. We grabbed some snacks and drinks, a perfect warm-up for what would soon become the best meal of the trip—yakiniku. Nikolai took us to an incredible yakiniku spot, where the concept is as brilliant as it is simple: 70–90 minutes of all-you-can-eat, grill-your-own meat perfection. But this wasn’t just any meat—we’re talking wagyu beef, marbled to perfection and practically melting on the grill. The act of cooking it ourselves added a fun, interactive twist, turning the meal into both an experience and a celebration. Every bite was packed with juicy, smoky, mind-blowing flavor. Between the sizzling grill, the lively chatter, and Nikolai’s hospitality, this meal easily became an unforgettable highlight. But the night wasn’t over yet.   Our final stop was TeamLab Planets, a museum that completely redefined what I thought an art experience could be. This isn’t your typical “look-but-don’t-touch” gallery—it’s an interactive journey where technology, nature, and creativity collide. Every room felt like stepping into another dimension, engaging not just your eyes but all your senses. One moment that stayed with me: wading barefoot through ankle-deep, warm water in a room that transformed into a digital koi pond. The koi weren’t real, but the way they moved and shimmered in the water felt eerily lifelike—like we were part of a living painting. It was surreal, peaceful, and completely mesmerizing. You’ll want at least three hours here to fully immerse yourself in everything it has to offer.   From exploring centuries-old traditions to sharing laughter over sizzling wagyu, and finally losing ourselves in a digital dreamscape, February 16th was packed with unforgettable moments. It was a day that captured the essence of Japan in every sense—and a memory I’ll carry with me forever.   Big thanks to Nik for making the day so special. If every trip has that one perfect day, this was ours. -John   

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Kyoto Day Trip – February 11th

Japan /

On February 11, our last full day in our Osaka Airbnb, we decided to make a day trip to Kyoto, which was the political and cultural capital for over 1,000 years. It complemented our day trip to Nara, which was the capital for a brief time before this. Unlike many cities in Japan, Kyoto was largely spared from destruction during World War 2, preserving its wealth of temples, shirines, and historic districts. Today, Kyoto stands as a testament to Japan’s past, where centuries old traditions continue to shape the present.   That being said, visiting the imperial palace was a must. Although no longer home to the emperor, it remains a powerful symbol of Japan’s imperial history. The palace grounds, set within Kyoto Gyoen National Garden, showcases elegant traditional architecture, and is meticulously maintained. Standing within the Kyoto Imperial palace, surrounded by the echoes of a thousand years of history was a profound experience. Knowing that generations of emperors walked these same paths, shaping the course of Japan, made the moment feel surreal. The weight of tradition and the passage of time were palpable, a quiet reminder of how much has changed, and how much remains the same.   After this, we made our way to the Ninja-Samurai experience museum. This was definitely a very “tourist:” activity. However, I enjoyed it nonetheless. We got to see pieces of armor and swords that were 700 years old. They taught us a brief history of the samurai, including up to the last one,Saigō Takamori. We also learned that the famous haircut worn by samaria, the Chonmage, was primarily a practical application to pad their heads from the heavy helmets. We were able to try on replicas. Overall, I would rate this experience a 7.5 out of ten. I wish it delved deeper into the history personally, but we still had fun.  A day trip is not nearly enough to experience all that Kyoto has to offer. However, it was still absolutely worth it. Even in just a few hours, we were able to catch a glimpse of its rich history, stunning temples, and vibrant culture. While there’s so much more to explore, every moment we spent there felt meaningful- enough to know we would love to return one day.  -John

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