Atop a blustery grassy lookout excessive atop the Kitayamazaki Cliffs, a comical younger fisherman and his girlfriend bought us raw-milk smooth serve ice cream with spoons made out of black kombu seaweed. Totally drunk at 10 a.m., they had been chopping up and portioning freshly dried seaweed into baggage and cracking jokes in English. Eventually he eliminated his cigarette and requested, “Are you going to visit the tsunami memorials?” I nodded however stated nothing, not desirous to kill the jovial temper.
The farther south we traveled, the worse the tsunami harm turned. We reached Takada Matsubara Tsunami Reconstruction Memorial Park, an austere elegy designed by architect Hiroshi Naito. The elongated white museum sprawled throughout a discipline that waves had stripped naked. A slim bridge led to the seawall, the place we walked till we could not stand the chilly. Nearby lay the ruins of a youth hostel, half-sunken in an estuary. Controversially, many of the broken buildings have been deliberately left as reminders of what occurred right here.
Miyagi prefecture, farther south, suffered the most casualties. We stopped at the former Kadonowaki Elementary School and the Ishinomaki Minamihama Tsunami Memorial Park. Ground-floor school rooms had piles of particles; others on the higher flooring had been untouched, with notebooks nonetheless open on deserted desks.
This stretch of coast now has so many memorials—61, to be actual—that it is referred to as 3.11 Densho Road, a reputation that mixes the date of the catastrophe with a phrase that means “to pass on to the next generation.” These websites are locations of mourning, however they’re additionally locations of studying, with museums and instructional facilities that purpose to mitigate future disasters. They embody the resilient Tohoku spirit of enduring struggling with endurance and dignity whereas additionally striving to maneuver on.
Moving on is what I did too. In the picturesque port city of Matsushima, I stated goodbye to Quinlan earlier than exploring the metropolis’s busy shrines, parks, and temples alone. That evening at a bustling izakaya counter over tuna sashimi and agedashi dofu—golden pillows of fried tofu in heat dashi broth—I felt grateful to be again in the current. My trek had opened my eyes to each pleasure and struggling, giving me souvenirs I’ll cherish without end: the moss deep in the woods, the quiet black pony, the jovial younger fisherman.
Remote Lands can arrange journeys all through Japan, together with a guided trek alongside the new Michinoku Coastal Trail (from $11,000 for 4 nights; remotelands.com). This article appeared in the November 2025 challenge of Condé Nast Traveler. Subscribe to the journal here.