A Journey to Japan: Kyoto and Nara
Cherry Blossoms, Ancient Traditions, and the Enduring Ties Between Korea and Japan
Executive Summary
In April 1996, I traveled to Japan to attend the IEEE Network Operations and Management Symposium (NOMS ’96), held at the Kyoto International Hotel from April 15 to 19. It was my first visit to Japan, a country often described in Korea as a neighbor that is geographically close yet emotionally distant because of the complicated history between the two nations. The journey offered me more than an opportunity to attend an international academic conference. It became a memorable encounter with Japan’s technological precision, traditional craftsmanship, disciplined social customs, and ancient cultural heritage. From the nearly silent Shinkansen gliding past closely packed houses to the golden splendor of Kinkaku-ji, from the intimate atmosphere of a neighborhood tavern to the tranquil deer roaming freely in Nara, each experience revealed a different dimension of Japanese life. The trip also deepened my appreciation for the historical and cultural connections between Korea and Japan, particularly the influence of the ancient Korean kingdom of Baekje on Japanese architecture and Buddhist culture. Although the demands of the conference and the limited time available prevented me from exploring these two historic cities as thoroughly as I wished, the journey left me with a lasting desire to return with my family and discover more of Japan’s remarkable past.
Keywords: Kyoto, Nara, Japan, cherry blossoms, Shinkansen, Kinkaku-ji, Todai-ji, Korean-Japanese cultural relations, traditional craftsmanship, travel memoir
A First Encounter with a Neighboring Country
From April 15 to 19, 1996, I attended NOMS ’96, the Network Operations and Management Symposium sponsored by the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers (IEEE) and held at the Kyoto International Hotel in Kyoto, Japan. On the way to the conference, I had an opportunity to make brief visits to Kyoto and Nara, two cities whose histories reach deep into the foundations of Japanese civilization.
For Koreans, Japan has long been a neighbor close enough to reach in a few hours yet distant enough, emotionally and historically, to remain a complicated presence. Centuries of cultural exchange, followed by painful episodes of invasion and colonial rule, have made the relationship between the two countries far more complex than geographical proximity alone would suggest. Because this was my first visit to Japan, I approached the journey with a mixture of curiosity, anticipation, and a desire to see for myself the country I had known primarily through books, news, and academic exchanges.
I was particularly interested in observing how Japan had combined advanced technology with the preservation of its traditional culture. As a researcher in telecommunications and network management, I naturally paid attention to transportation systems, communications infrastructure, and the organization of public services. At the same time, I wanted to experience the everyday life of ordinary Japanese people, visit historic temples, and discover how centuries-old customs continued to shape a modern industrial society.
What I did not realize at the time was how vividly a few ordinary moments—a train ride, a tiny hotel room, a meal in a neighborhood tavern, and a walk through a temple garden—would remain in my memory decades later.
Across the Sea and Into the Season of Cherry Blossoms
My journey began at Gimpo Airport in Seoul. After departing Korea and crossing the East Sea, I arrived at Kansai International Airport in Japan. My first impression was that everything appeared remarkably clean, orderly, and carefully organized. The airport facilities were modern, and the communications systems and passenger information services seemed well integrated into the overall operation of the terminal.
From the airport, I continued toward Kyoto by rail, connecting with Japan’s famous Shinkansen, or bullet train. For someone accustomed to observing telecommunications networks and complex technical systems, the experience was fascinating even before the train began to move. The stations, signs, passenger information displays, and announcements appeared to function as parts of a coordinated system designed to make travel predictable and efficient.
Spring was at its most beautiful. Cherry blossoms were in full bloom, and the landscape outside the train windows seemed to unfold like a series of carefully arranged paintings. In parks and open spaces, families, colleagues, and groups of students had gathered beneath the flowering trees to celebrate hanami, the traditional Japanese custom of viewing cherry blossoms.
People sat together on picnic sheets, sharing food and drinks, talking, singing, and occasionally dancing. Their gatherings were lively, but what impressed me most was the apparent orderliness of the celebrations. Even as large groups enjoyed themselves, the surrounding environment seemed remarkably composed. The scene conveyed a sense of collective enjoyment in which individual pleasure and consideration for others could coexist.
The train ride itself was equally memorable. In some places, houses stood surprisingly close to the railway tracks. As the train rushed past, I occasionally wondered whether the buildings were almost within arm’s reach of the passing cars. Yet the Shinkansen moved with extraordinary smoothness. The noise was remarkably subdued, and the vibration was so slight that a cup of a beverage could remain almost undisturbed on a table.
The passenger information system also impressed me. Electronic displays inside the cars showed upcoming stations and scheduled travel times, while announcements provided passengers with timely information. The precision seemed almost effortless, as though the railway had transformed the complex coordination of speed, distance, scheduling, and passenger communication into an everyday experience.
As a telecommunications and network management researcher, I could not help thinking about the infrastructure behind such performance. What passengers experienced as a comfortable journey depended on the coordinated operation of many interconnected systems, from railway control and signaling to scheduling, communications, and passenger information. Japan’s technological sophistication was not simply something to be admired from a distance; it was something one could feel in the quiet movement of a train.
By the time I approached Kyoto, I had already formed a strong impression of a society that placed considerable value on precision, reliability, and the careful organization of public life.
A Tiny Hotel Room and the Art of Making Do
Upon arriving at Kyoto Station, I took a taxi to the hotel I reserved. By Korean standards at the time, it was roughly comparable to a modest local hotel rather than a luxury establishment. The moment the bellhop showed me to the reserved room, I discovered just how compact Japanese accommodations could be.
The room was astonishingly small. The television was positioned so that one could lie on the bed and look upward to watch it. In one corner stood a compact bathroom, with a shower area barely large enough for one person and separated by a frosted-glass door. The toilet occupied the same confined space. The passageways were narrow, and the elevator seemed capable of accommodating only two or three people comfortably.
Coming from Korea, where I was accustomed to somewhat more spacious hotel rooms, I found the arrangement surprising. There was little room for unnecessary movement, much less for spreading out luggage or relaxing in a chair. Everything appeared to have been fitted into the available space with extraordinary economy.
Yet the room was clean, the facilities were functional, and the staff were courteous. Their English was not particularly fluent, but communication presented no serious difficulty. A combination of simple words, gestures, and mutual patience was enough to get us through the practical details of stay.
The experience gave me a glimpse of a broader feature of Japanese urban life: the need to make efficient use of limited space. In a country where densely populated cities and expensive land have long influenced housing and commercial design, compactness can become a discipline of its own. What initially seemed uncomfortable also reflected a practical approach to accommodating everyday needs within physical constraints.
Still, I could not help smiling at the thought that our little room offered a lesson in spatial efficiency that was almost as memorable as the high-speed railway. Japan had managed to give us an exceptionally smooth journey across the country, only to remind us upon arrival that the space awaiting us might be barely larger than the train compartment we had just left.
Sushi, Kimchi, and an Unexpected Evening at a Local Tavern
I was traveling with Dr. S, a colleague from the same research institute. He was a man of strong culinary convictions, and he had announced with considerable seriousness that he could not survive even a single day without kimchi. Although I appreciated his devotion to Korean food, his declaration made me quietly wonder how we would manage our meals in Japan.
That evening, we decided to visit a nearby supermarket to see whether we could find something familiar and easy to eat. The shelves offered an abundance of Japanese food, much of it attractively packaged in small portions. One item immediately caught my attention: individual pieces of sushi, each neatly wrapped in a small plastic package and priced at 50 yen.
We began selecting different varieties, one piece at a time. The individual prices seemed modest enough, but as we continued adding items to our basket, the total increased rather quickly. By the time we finished choosing, we had accumulated quite a collection and were paying a surprisingly substantial amount for what had begun as a casual shopping expedition.
Fortunately, we also found spicy Korean-style instant noodles with a flavor reminiscent of kimchi. This discovery relieved my concern about Dr. S’s dietary predicament. At least we had secured something that might satisfy his Korean palate.
Later that evening, we ventured into a small neighborhood izakaya, a traditional Japanese tavern. It was run by an elderly husband and wife, whose establishment was intimate enough that the arrival of two additional customers made a noticeable difference.
When we entered, two groups of what appeared to be office workers were already seated inside, probably stopping for food and drinks after work. The room was so small that, with our arrival, it felt almost completely full. There was little distance between the tables, and the atmosphere was warm and convivial.
We examined the menu, hoping to identify something suitable to accompany our drinks. Unfortunately, the list of fish dishes presented a formidable challenge. Many names were written in Japanese characters, often using the fish radical 魚 combined with different characters to identify particular species. To our untrained eyes, the menu looked like an elaborate catalog of unfamiliar fish, each distinguished by a small variation in a character we could barely recognize.
We hesitated, uncertain what to order. Fortunately, the Japanese customers around us realized that we were foreigners and kindly helped us choose. Their willingness to assist two puzzled visitors turned what might have been an awkward encounter into a pleasant cultural exchange.
Soon, our table was covered with an assortment of small dishes. We enjoyed the food with Sapporo beer, one of Japan’s best-known traditional beer brands. The fish dishes were served in tiny portions, often with just two little fish on a small plate. We ordered several varieties, enjoying the novelty of tasting foods whose names we could scarcely pronounce.
The real surprise came when we received the bill. Those tiny plates had added up to a considerable sum. Dr. S and I exchanged astonished looks. We had eaten well, and neither of us regretted the experience, but we had certainly gained a practical appreciation of Japan’s high cost of living.
The evening remains memorable not because we found the cheapest meal in Kyoto, but because we experienced the hospitality of ordinary people. We had entered a small tavern unable to understand the menu and left with full stomachs, a story to tell, and a renewed appreciation for the kindness that can bridge linguistic and cultural differences. It was a simple lesson: travel often becomes most meaningful when we allow ourselves to be helped by strangers.
A Traditional Market Where Centuries of Craftsmanship Survive
The following day, I visited one of Kyoto’s celebrated traditional markets. I was struck by the pride with which local people spoke of the market’s long history and its place in the city’s commercial and cultural life. Markets of this kind are more than places to buy food or household goods. They preserve the habits, skills, and social relationships through which a community passes its identity from one generation to the next.
Although Japan had developed into a highly industrialized nation, the market continued to offer traditional products made with remarkable care. Brushes, ink sticks, specialty paper, colorful Japanese rice cakes, and traditional sweets stood alongside everyday food items. The contrast between Japan’s sophisticated industrial economy and its enduring artisanal traditions was particularly striking.
I had expected to encounter modern consumer goods in a technologically advanced country. What surprised me was the extent to which older forms of production remained visible and commercially valued. Traditional brushes and ink were not merely museum objects representing a vanished age. They were tangible products that people could still purchase, use, and incorporate into their daily lives.
During my visit, I also heard about the Japanese tradition of family businesses, in which specialized occupations such as tofu making or the production of takuan—Japanese pickled daikon radish—could be passed down through generations. In some families, preserving the business was a matter of honor and identity, and at least one descendant might be expected to continue the work.
This tradition reflects a form of craftsmanship often described by the Japanese concept of shokunin, or the craftsman’s dedication to mastering a particular skill. The ideal involves more than making a product for sale. It emphasizes patience, responsibility, attention to detail, and pride in work that may have been refined over many decades.
I found the idea admirable. In a world increasingly driven by mass production, automation, and the pressure to manufacture more goods at lower cost, traditional craftsmanship reminds us that quality also depends on accumulated experience and a commitment to standards that cannot always be measured by speed or volume.
The lesson was not that every family business must remain unchanged forever. Rather, it was that modernization need not require the abandonment of inherited knowledge. A society can embrace new technologies while preserving the human skills, local identities, and cultural memories that give its economic life depth.
As I walked through the market, I felt that Kyoto was quietly demonstrating how a modern city could remain connected to its past—not merely by displaying historical objects, but by allowing old traditions to continue functioning in everyday life.
Kinkaku-ji: The Golden Pavilion and the Discipline of Collective Life
Another day, I visited Kinkaku-ji, the celebrated Golden Pavilion of Kyoto. The temple’s brilliant gold exterior stood out against the surrounding greenery and reflected beautifully in the water of the garden pond. It was an image of elegance and carefully composed beauty, one that seemed almost too perfect to belong to the ordinary world.
The pavilion’s splendor was immediately apparent, but its significance extended beyond the gold leaf that covered its exterior. Kinkaku-ji represented a meeting of architecture, landscape, religious tradition, and aesthetic sensibility. The surrounding garden guided the visitor’s attention toward particular views, encouraging a slower and more contemplative way of looking.
For a Korean visitor, the architecture also raised questions about the historical connections between the two countries. Japanese Buddhist architecture and religious culture developed through exchanges across East Asia, including important influences from the Korean peninsula. The ancient kingdom of Baekje, in particular, played a significant role in transmitting Buddhist knowledge, artistic practices, and architectural expertise to Japan. Historical accounts associate Korean artisans and specialists with the construction of early Japanese Buddhist temples.
These connections are a reminder that the cultural histories of Korea and Japan cannot be understood as entirely separate stories. Across the centuries, ideas, technologies, religious traditions, and artistic forms crossed the sea in both directions. The resulting heritage belongs to a complicated history of contact, adaptation, creativity, and exchange.
Yet another scene at Kinkaku-ji remains especially vivid in my memory: the seemingly endless lines of Japanese schoolchildren on educational excursions. Students had arrived from different parts of Japan, accompanied by their teachers. They moved along the designated visitor routes in remarkably orderly lines, responding promptly to instructions and keeping together as they passed through the grounds. From where I stood, the groups seemed to flow through the pathways almost like a colony of ants, each student following the larger movement with little visible disruption. I watched them with a mixture of admiration and curiosity. Their coordinated behavior suggested a strong sense of collective discipline, one that appeared to have been cultivated through schooling and shared social expectations.
For a Korean observer, this degree of group coordination was striking. It seemed to reveal something about the Japanese emphasis on cooperation, order, and consideration for the group. At the same time, I knew that a brief observation of schoolchildren on a field trip could not explain an entire national character. What I witnessed was one particular expression of social discipline in a setting where the movement of large groups required coordination.
Nevertheless, the scene stayed with me because it offered a contrast between two kinds of beauty at Kinkaku-ji. One was the deliberate beauty of the Golden Pavilion, shaped by architecture and landscape. The other was the collective choreography of everyday behavior, in which order emerged from the coordinated actions of many individuals. Both seemed to reflect an appreciation for harmony, although they expressed it in very different ways.
An Evening of Traditional Japanese Theater
Wanting to understand Japanese culture more deeply, I decided to spend a considerable amount of money to attend a celebrated traditional performance in Kyoto, which I remember as a sakura performance. I was eager to experience a form of entertainment that had evolved within Japan’s distinctive theatrical traditions rather than simply observe cultural landmarks from the outside.
The theater itself was memorable. The audience sat on tiered seating, while the performance area incorporated traditional Japanese-style elements, including tatami flooring. The stage, costumes, gestures, and musical accompaniment created an atmosphere quite different from that of a modern Western theater.
The story, as I recall it, centered on the emotional suffering of a woman whose husband had gone away to war and on her fidelity to him during his absence. Love, separation, loyalty, and endurance formed the emotional core of the drama.
The performers wore traditional kimono, and the female performers’ faces were covered in striking white makeup. Their appearance was so stylized that it seemed almost otherworldly. Their gestures and expressions, together with the music and movement, communicated emotions through a theatrical vocabulary that was unfamiliar to me.
I could not fully appreciate every nuance of the performance, especially because of the language barrier and my limited knowledge of Japanese theater. Yet the experience gave me a sense of how traditional performance can preserve a society’s ideas about love, duty, suffering, and personal sacrifice.
When the show ended, the performers became surrounded by foreign tourists who wanted commemorative photographs. The atmosphere grew lively as visitors approached them, eager to capture a personal memory of the occasion. The contrast between the carefully controlled world of the performance and the bustle of modern tourism was striking.
I left the theater feeling that I had glimpsed only a small part of a much larger cultural tradition. The experience was expensive, and I could not claim to have fully understood what I had seen. But that was part of the value of traveling: sometimes the most rewarding encounters are those that remind us how much remains to be learned.
Nara: A Quieter City with Deep Korean Connections
After exploring Kyoto, I traveled by bus along the highway to Nara. The two cities offered different impressions. Kyoto felt like a place where imperial history, religious institutions, traditional arts, and modern urban life converged. Nara, by contrast, seemed quieter and more pastoral, with a gentler atmosphere that invited a slower pace of observation.
The city’s name itself reminded me of the long historical connections between Korea and Japan, although the name alone should not be taken as proof of a particular linguistic origin. What was unmistakable was the region’s place in the history of early Japanese civilization and its longstanding connections with the Korean peninsula and the wider East Asian world.
One of the most delightful sights was the deer wandering freely through the surrounding environment. They moved calmly along paths and open spaces, creating a feeling of unusual intimacy between wildlife and the human world. Visitors stopped to watch them, while the animals continued their unhurried movements through the landscape.
The scene seemed almost dreamlike. After the dense urban environment of modern transportation and the disciplined movement of crowds at Kyoto’s major attractions, the freely roaming deer offered a different kind of encounter with Japanese life. The atmosphere was peaceful, and the landscape seemed to encourage visitors to slow down and pay attention to their surroundings.
Nara’s historical significance, however, extended far beyond its natural charm. The city preserves some of Japan’s most important early Buddhist monuments and cultural treasures. Its history is closely connected with the transmission of Buddhism, artistic knowledge, and political institutions across East Asia. The movement of monks, artisans, scholars, and diplomatic missions between the Korean kingdoms and Japan helped shape the region’s religious and cultural development.
For a Korean visitor, this shared history was particularly meaningful. It suggested that the relationship between the two countries had included not only conflict and political rivalry but also sustained exchanges of knowledge, belief, and artistic achievement.
The cultural monuments of Nara made that history tangible. They reminded me that civilizations are rarely built in isolation. They develop through encounters with neighboring peoples, adapting what they receive and contributing ideas in return.
Tōdai-ji: Monumental Scale and Quiet Grandeur
Among Nara’s historic sites, Tōdai-ji left the strongest impression on me. The temple complex was magnificent in scale, yet it also possessed a refinement that prevented its grandeur from becoming overwhelming.
The great wooden temple hall, associated with one of the most important Buddhist institutions in Japanese history, conveyed an extraordinary sense of ambition and craftsmanship. Its massive structure suggested the resources and organizational abilities required to create such a monument in an age long before modern construction machinery.
Standing before a building of that scale, I found myself thinking about the countless people whose work had made it possible. Beyond the rulers and religious leaders whose names appear in historical accounts, there must have been generations of carpenters, artisans, laborers, and specialists who contributed their knowledge and physical effort to the construction and preservation of the temple.
The monument therefore represented more than religious devotion. It embodied the accumulated abilities of a society to organize labor, develop technical skills, transmit knowledge, and sustain a cultural institution across generations.
For me, this was one of the most compelling aspects of visiting historic sites. Their visible beauty is only the beginning of the story. Behind a temple’s massive roof, intricate wooden structure, and carefully maintained grounds lies an invisible history of human cooperation and technical ingenuity.
Tōdai-ji also brought the historical connections between Korea and Japan into sharper focus. The development of Japanese Buddhism took place within a broad East Asian network of cultural exchange, and the Korean peninsula played an important role in the transmission of Buddhist traditions and related artistic and technical knowledge.
It would be too simple to describe Japanese temples as merely copies of Korean architecture, just as it would be misleading to treat the two countries’ cultural histories as identical. Japan developed its own architectural traditions and religious institutions through a process of adaptation and innovation. Nevertheless, recognizing the contributions of Korean kingdoms and artisans helps us understand the deeper regional history from which these traditions emerged.
As I walked through the temple grounds, I felt that Nara offered a particularly meaningful setting for reflecting on that shared past. The city was peaceful, but its monuments spoke of centuries of intellectual, spiritual, and artistic activity.
A Conference, an Unexpected Honor, and an Unfinished Journey
My visit to Kyoto and Nara was brief, and I regret that I had not prepared more thoroughly before leaving Korea. The demands of an international academic conference limited the time available for sightseeing, and there were many places I would have liked to explore more carefully.
I had traveled primarily to present my research at NOMS ’96, not to undertake a comprehensive cultural tour of Japan. Consequently, my experiences were fragmentary: a railway journey, a handful of meals, a traditional market, a few historic monuments, and an evening of theater. They provided glimpses rather than a complete understanding of either city.
Yet one piece of news helped compensate for the limitations of the trip. My paper was selected as the Best Paper at the conference, and I received a monetary award. The recognition was a source of considerable satisfaction. It affirmed the value of the research I had brought to an international gathering and made the journey memorable in an additional way.
Looking back, I realize that the professional and personal dimensions of the trip complemented each other. The conference allowed me to participate in the international exchange of scientific ideas, while the visits to Kyoto and Nara gave me an opportunity to encounter the history and culture of the host country. One experience engaged the analytical mind; the other engaged curiosity, memory, and imagination.
I also came away with a more nuanced appreciation of Japan. Its high-speed trains demonstrated the value of technical precision and reliable infrastructure. Its tiny hotel rooms illustrated the practical demands of limited urban space. Its traditional market revealed the continuing dignity of inherited craftsmanship. Its temples embodied religious devotion, artistic achievement, and centuries of cultural exchange. And the helpful customers in a small neighborhood tavern reminded me that human kindness can make a foreign place feel unexpectedly welcoming.
Most importantly, the journey strengthened my desire to return.
I hope that one day I will have enough time to explore Kyoto and Nara at a more leisurely pace, accompanied by my family. I would like to revisit their historic temples, discover the streets and markets I missed, and learn more about the cultural traditions that have endured through centuries of change. I also hope to visit Takamisu Junior High School in Yamaguchi Prefecture, the school my father attended—a personal destination that would connect my own journey with an important part of my family’s history.
That visit would mean more to me than another item on a travel itinerary. It would offer an opportunity to walk, even briefly, through a place associated with my father’s younger years and to reflect on the historical circumstances that shaped his generation.
Travel sometimes leaves us with answers, but it also leaves us with questions and unfinished journeys. My first visit to Japan did not allow me to understand everything I had hoped to discover. Instead, it gave me a collection of vivid impressions and a stronger desire to learn more.
The cherry blossoms of spring, the whispering speed of the Shinkansen, the gold of Kinkaku-ji, the solemn grandeur of Tōdai-ji, and the quiet presence of deer in Nara remain part of that memory. So do the taste of unfamiliar fish, the kindness of strangers, and the surprise of discovering how much two neighboring countries share beneath the weight of their historical differences.
Perhaps this is one of travel’s greatest gifts: it allows us to see a country not as an abstract idea or a distant neighbor, but as a living place filled with people, traditions, achievements, and contradictions.
In the spring of 1996, I traveled to Japan for an academic conference. I returned with a professional honor, a deeper appreciation of Japanese culture, and an unfinished promise to myself: someday, I would return with my family, take my time, and discover more of the history that connects Japan, Korea, and our own lives.
일본 여행기: 교토(京都)와 나라(奈良)
벚꽃과 오랜 전통, 그리고 한국과 일본을 잇는 오랜 인연
나는 1996년 4월 15-19일까지 일본의 교토 국제호텔에서 열린 미국전기및전자학회(IEEE)가 주최한 NOMS (Network Operations and Management Symposium) 96에 참석하는 길에 교토와 나라를 간단히 들러 볼 기회를 가졌었다. 흔히 가깝고도 먼 이웃 나라라고 하는 일본 방문은 처음이어서 나로서는 여러가지로 기대가 되었다.
김포공항을 출발하여 동해를 지나 일본의 간사이(關西)국제공항에 도착하였다. 공항은 아주 깨끗하게 잘 정돈되어 있었고, 통신설비 등도 잘 되어 있었다. 공항에서 직접 연결된 일본의 주요 고속철도인 신칸센(新幹線)으로 갈아타고 교토로 향하였다. 때는 벛꽃이 한창 만발하는 봄인지라 차창 너머로 많은 사람들이 가족 단위나 회사나 학교 단위로 자리를 깔고 공원에서 벛꽃놀이를 즐기며 춤을 추고 노래하면서 질서정연하게 노는 모습이 인상적 이었다. 신간선의 철도와 인접한 주변의 주택들은 차창과 아주 가까워 기차가 달릴 때면 혹 부딫치지 않을까 할 정도로 매우 가까웠다. 그리고 기차의 소음이 거의 없었으며 차체 진동이 아주 미약하여 기차 안에서 마시는 음료수 잔이 거의 흔들리지 않을 정도였다. 다음 정착역 안내라든가 예정 주행시간 등도 아주 정확하게 객실 내의 전광판으로 표시되고 또 승객들에게 방송되고 있었다.
마침내 교토역에서 기차를 내려 택시로 갈아타고 예약한 호텔로 갔는데, 우리 나라로 치면 장급 호텔 정도 되는 곳이었다. 벨보이의 안내로 방에 들어가니 정말 방이 아주 조그만하여, 텔리비전은 침대에 누워 위로 쳐다보며 보게 되어있고, 샤워시설은 한 사람이 겨우 들어갈 정도고 불투명유리문으로 가려져 있으며 화장실과 함께 방 구석에 위치하고 있었다. 통로도 매우 비좁고 운행되는 엘리베이터도 2-3사람 정도 겨우 탈 정도였다. 호텔 직원들의 영어 실력은 그리 좋지 않았으나 의사소통에는 별 문제가 없었고 전반적으로 호텔 시설은 아주 깨끗하고 매우 친절 하였다.
나는 같은 연구소에 근무하는 S 박사와 함께 출장을 갔었는데, S박사는 음식에 매우 까다로워 자기는 김치가 없으면 하루도 살 수 없는 사람이라고 선언하여 은근히 걱정이 되었다. 저녁 시간이 되어 우리는 함께 동네에 있는 수퍼마킷에 가서 혹 속이 편하게 먹을만한 것 들이 있나 들러 보았다. 가장 눈에 띄는 것은 하나씩 조그만 비닐 봉지에 포장하여 50엔에 파는 쓰시 (壽司) 였다. 종류 별로 하나씩 골랐더니 그 갯수가 꽤 되어 우리는 상당한 돈을 지불하였다. 다행히 김치 맛을 내는 한국의 매운 라면도 살 수 있어서 S박사의 입맛을 다행히 충족시켜 줄 수 있었다. 조금 늦은 저녁이 되어 우리는 동네 선술집에 갔다. 노부부가 둘이서 하는 선술집인데 안에는 퇴근하는 길에 들른 회사원인들인 듯한 두 무리의 사람들이 먼저 와 있었고, 우리 둘이 들어가니 그 작은 술집은 꽉 차게 되었다. 메뉴판을 보니 온통 깨알같은 물고기 이름들이 물고기 魚 변에 각기 다른 한자를 더하여 나열되어 있어 무엇을 안주로 시켜야 될지 고민하는데, 주변의 손님들이 우리들이 외국인인줄 알고서 친절히 주문을 도와 주었다. 한참 이것 저것을 안주로하여 일본의 전통 맥주인 삿뽀로와 함께 잘 먹었는데, 계산서를 보니 조그만 접시에 2마리 씩 나온 조그만 물고기 반찬들의 가격들이 만만치 않게 나와 둘이서 놀랬었다. 잘 먹었으니 불평은 없었지만 일본의 높은 물가를 실감하였다.
다음 날은 교토의 유명한 재래시장을 가 보았다. 1,000년이 넘은 일본의 전통시장이라고 자부심이 대단하였는데, 산업이 잘 발달된 나라임에도 불구하고 전통수공업으로 생산하는 붓이라든가 먹, 종이와 같은 것은 물론 형형색색의 일본찹쌀떡과 전통 과자 같은 것도 잘 보존되어 판매되고 있었다. 일본에서는 가내 수공업으로 물려 받은 직업, 예를 들면, 두부제조라든가 단무지제조와 같은 것도 제조자의 이름을 걸고 대물림으로 하여 적어도 자손 중의 한 명이 이어 받는다는 가문에 대한 자존심에 관한 이야기를 들었다. 일종의 장인정신인데 본받을 만 하였다.
그 다음 날에는 교토의 金閣寺를 방문하였는데, 금각사는 금물로 단장된 절의 화려함이 돋보였다. 일본의 건축물 들은 한국의 영향 특히, 백제의 영향을 주로 많이 받았고 실제로 백제의 건축기술자들이 직접 건너와 사찰 건립에 참여 했다고 전해진다. 금각사 방문 시 아직도 생각나는 것은 일본의 각지에서 수학여행 온 수많은 학생들의 행렬이었는데, 그들은 너무나 기계적으로 정확하게 줄을 맞춰 선생님의 지시에 따라 질서정연하게 정해진 관람로를 따라 개미처럼 움직이고 있었다. 한국인들로서는 이해하기 쉽지 않은 일본인들의 단체정신 이랄까 하는 것이 느껴졌다.
일본의 문화를 더욱 깊이 이해하고자 거금을 들여 교토의 유명한 사꾸라공연을 관람하였다. 전통적인 일본식 극장에 설치된 다다미에 앉아 무대에서 공연되는 일본 전통 가무를 계단식의 객석에서 즐기는 것이었는데, 내용은 전쟁 나간 남편과 수절하는 부인에 얽힌 애정극으로 기억된다. 일본의 전통 의상인 기모노를 입고 얼굴에 온통 하얗게 기괴하게 회칠을 한 여성출연자들이 공연이 끝나자 외국 관광객들의 요청에 의해 기념 사진들을 찍느라고 매우 부산하였다.
고속도로를 따라 버스를 타고 나라로 가 보았는데, 교토와 달리 ‘나라’라는 그 명칭이 나타내듯 한국적인 정서가 많이 배어 있는 한적한 도시였다. 특히 인상적인 것은 자유스럽게 노니는 사슴의 모습으로 주변 환경이 매우 평화스럽게 보였다. 나라의 많은 문화재는 한국과 직간접으로 역사적인 연관이 아주 강하게 있다고 한다. 나라에서 인상적인 사찰은 東大寺로서 그 규모가 아주 웅장하면서 세련됨을 느낄 수 있었다.
나는 언젠가 충분한 시간을 내어 두 도시를 더욱 자세히 보고 싶은 생각이 간절하였다. 여행에 대한 준비가 충분치 못 하였고, 시간상의 제약 때문에 보다 많은 곳을 둘러보지 못한 것이 못 내 아쉬었다. 한 가지 위안을 삼았던 것은 내 발표 논문이 참가한 학술회의에서Best Paper로 선정되어서 상금을 받았다는 사실이었다. 언젠가 두 도시는 물론 일본의 주요 명소를 느긋한 마음으로 가족들과 함께 다시 방문하고 아버님이 다니셨던 야마구치(山口)縣의 高水中學校도 방문 할 수 있게 되기를 기대해 본다. +++
About the Author
Prof. Dr. Young Choi (Editor-in-Chief) — Regent University
Full list of his K-GSP columns:
https://www.k-gsp.org/t/columnist_young_choi
Full list of his Books at Amazon.com
Young B. Choi is a Professor in the Department of Engineering & Computer Science at Regent University. He published 38 books with ‘Selected Readings in Cybersecurity’ (2018) (over 800 copies archived globally at university/college libraries around the world) and ‘Cybersecurity Applications and Artificial Intelligence’ (2023) available in seven major world languages. He proposed the world’s first global and universal telecommunications “Service Order Handling (SOH)” Model (T-SOH Model) (1995) with Dr. Adrian Tang. With this innovative research work, he received the IEEE NOMS ’96 Best Paper Award and became the first recipient of the Outstanding Contribution Award of the TeleManagement Forum in 1998. His research areas include Natural Language Processing-focused AI, AI-applied cybersecurity, network and telecom service management, and Korean studies on Gani Choi Rip’s Jeonggwan (靜觀: Quiet Contemplation) philosophy and Shilhak ( 實學: Practical Learning).
Suggested Citation
Choi, Y. B. (2026). A Journey to Japan: Kyoto and Nara: Cherry Blossoms, Ancient Traditions, and the Enduring Ties Between Korea and Japan. K-GSP Forum.
한글요약
1996년 4월, 나는 4월 15일부터 19일까지 교토 국제호텔에서 개최된 미국전기전자학회(IEEE) 주관 네트워크 운영 및 관리 심포지엄(NOMS ’96)에 참석하기 위해 일본을 방문하였다. 일본은 한국에서 흔히 ‘가깝고도 먼 나라’라고 불린다. 지리적으로는 가까운 이웃이지만, 두 나라 사이에 얽힌 복잡하고 아픈 역사 때문에 정서적으로는 여전히 멀게 느껴지는 나라였기 때문이다. 이번 방문은 일본을 처음으로 찾는 여행이어서 더욱 특별한 기대와 호기심을 안겨 주었다.
이번 여행은 단순히 국제 학술회의에 참석하는 기회 이상의 의미를 지녔다. 일본의 정교한 기술력과 전통 수공예의 깊이, 질서와 규율을 중시하는 사회문화, 그리고 오랜 세월 이어져 온 찬란한 역사와 문화유산을 직접 체험하는 소중한 여정이었다. 빽빽하게 들어선 주택들 사이를 거의 소음 없이 미끄러지듯 달리는 신칸센에서부터 황금빛으로 찬란하게 빛나는 금각사(킨카쿠지)에 이르기까지, 정겨운 동네 선술집의 소박한 분위기에서부터 나라의 평화로운 풍경 속을 자유롭게 거니는 사슴들에 이르기까지, 내가 마주한 모든 순간은 일본 사회와 일상의 서로 다른 모습을 생생하게 보여 주었다.
이번 여행은 또한 한국과 일본 사이에 오랜 세월 이어져 온 역사적·문화적 연관성을 새롭게 인식하는 계기가 되었다. 특히 고대 한국의 백제(百濟)가 일본의 건축과 불교문화 발전에 미친 영향은 두 나라의 역사가 얼마나 깊이 연결되어 있는지를 되새기게 했다. 학술회의 일정과 제한된 체류 시간 때문에 이 두 역사도시를 기대했던 만큼 충분히 둘러보지는 못했지만, 이번 여행은 언젠가 가족과 함께 다시 일본을 찾아 그 유구하고도 매력적인 역사와 문화를 더욱 깊이 탐방하고 싶다는 오랜 열망을 내 마음속에 남겨 주었다.
핵심어: 교토, 나라, 일본, 벚꽃, 신칸센, 금각사, 도다이지, 한일 문화관계, 전통 수공예, 여행기
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