Tourism in Japan is booming, with visitor numbers approaching an unprecedented 40 million per year. Japan hosts more foreign visitors than Italy and nearly matches France and Spain. With a national population of 124 million people (as of 2025), foreign travelers now represent the equivalent of one-third of the country’s population. That’s one visitor for every three locals! In cumulative terms, Japan hosts more tourists in just three years than its entire population.
Most travelers naturally gravitate toward iconic destinations such as Kyoto, Tokyo, or Mount Fuji. This concentration has fueled overtourism—where visitors outnumber locals overburdening public transport, crowding streets, and disrupting daily life. Many residents struggle to simply commute to work or complete their daily shopping. It may be tempting to argue that Japan, as a popular tourist destination, should simply accept these challenges in exchange for economic benefits, but the local mood suggests otherwise.
Japan, once known for its tolerance toward cultural faux pas, is showing signs of fatigue. The tipping point? Disrespect for local customs. One visible symptom is the rise in littering. Japan has a detailed, localized system of garbage disposal unfamiliar to foreign visitors, and unfortunately, not everyone takes the time to understand it. When tourists are careless about such basic customs, local sentiment toward tourism sours and goodwill evaporates. To ensure that Japan remains a welcoming destination, visitors must cultivate a culture of mutual respect.
Japan is still celebrated for its omotenashi hospitality ([hyper link](https://heartlandjapan.com/what-is-omotenashi/). However, while the country once overlooked the blunders of uninformed visitors, that patience is wearing thin. Increasingly, Japanese residents expect travelers to read up, level up, and wisen up.
Even if you already consider yourself a courteous person, it’s essential to observe local norms if you wish to be seen as a respectful guest. These simple habits will not only smooth your journey and make it more comfortable—they will create space for deeper cultural exchange. These tips will help you feel more comfortable, foster goodwill with local residents, and enrich your cross-cultural experiences.
Let’s take a day trip together and explore what etiquette looks like on the ground. You might be surprised at what you learn.
Public Transportation
We start our day by hopping on the subway to visit a well-known temple. Tickets in hand, we head toward the turnstiles. Wow, there sure are a lot of people! Workers in suits commuting, tourists lugging suitcases, and a school group headed this way! Let’s step aside to this pillar where we can look for the entrance to the subway platforms without obstructing the flow of people. Oh, I see the turnstiles over there! Okay, time to join the throng.
Once inside, we ride the escalator down to the platforms. Although Japan has promoted a newer practice of standing on both sides of the escalator to increase efficiency, the tradition of standing single-file to allow those in a hurry to pass still dominates in this instance. We follow suit.
At the bottom, we pause—again near a pillar, not in anyone’s way—to check the directional signage. We can see a signboard now showing all the stops in each direction. Our train is on platform 8. We queue up in an orderly line behind other passengers. The train pulls in, screeches to a halt, and unloads a wave of riders. Once the carriage empties, we board.
It’s packed. We remove our backpacks and hold them in front to avoid bumping anyone. As the carriage rolls down the tracks, the conductor announces the stops over the mic. Despite the crush, the car is remarkably quiet. Conversations are murmurs. We set our phones to silent mode and our minds to meditation mode, settling into stillness. After a few stops, two seats open. We quietly slide over and sink into them, keeping knees together, bags on our laps, and avoiding sprawling into others’ space. We’ve joined the symphony of silent commuters.
Disembarking with the crowd, we move aside and scan for an exit map. A nearby sign shows our destination lies near Exit 12. Out we go, back into the sunlit street.
You need an ATM, and we spot a 7-Eleven. While you enter, I wait outside. Someone is already using the machine, so you wait at the floor marker that ensures privacy. Soon, you’re at the machine retrieving crisp ¥10,000 notes. You grab bottled water for both of us. Inside, you notice there’s only one queue and two cash registers. It’s difficult to know where the end of the line is. Looking at the floor shows you there is one designated queue line for both registers, and it alternates between the two check-outs. Got it! Another example of Japan’s quiet systems of order.
To the Temple
Drinks stuffed into the side pockets of our backpacks, we rejoin the flow toward the temple. Along the way, we pass a shrine. Tourists cluster around—but one is hanging off the torii gate, posing for a photo. He thinks this is funny. We wince. The torii isn’t just a pretty structure—it marks sacred Shinto ground. Treating it otherwise is deeply disrespectful.
At the temple, we wait in line. One young man sits on the railing, sneakers wedged beneath the second rung. Children climb and jump off the top rail. We exchange glances. Some behavior truly crosses the line.
Inside the temple grounds, the mood shifts—cool, serene. A private residence borders the compound, blending seamlessly into the grounds. Its garden is exquisite. There is no fence, and no sign that says Do Not Enter. As much as we are tempted to enter the property to take a photo, we refrain. After all, we might be trespassing.
We decide to go into the interior of the temple, which features screen paintings and tatami mats. We remove our shoes at the entrance. You’re wearing sandals, so you end up in bare feet, whereas I am in socks. But you came prepared. You know that in Japan, bare feet on tatami are considered impolite. You produce a pair of socks from your backpack and slip them on. Signs say “No Photography,” so we tuck our cameras away.
Inside, it’s peaceful. People whisper, if they speak at all. The scent of tatami, the soft creak of wood, the glow of ancient screen paintings—it’s magical. This is Japan.
On the Way Home
After the temple, we opt for a quick snack on the way home before our 6 p.m. dinner reservation. This time I head to the convenience store. I grab a couple of onigiri rice balls and two more bottles of water. As I line up to pay, I notice a tourist has already peeled back the wrapper to an ice cream come and is eating it while waiting in line. The risk of dripping aside, it’s just inconsiderate to eat something before you’ve paid for it. The clerk doesn’t scold her (they never do), but his silent disapproval is obvious.
We stand outside the convenience store and eat our onigiri, since in Japan, eating while walking is frowned upon. When we’re done, we return the wrappers to the trash cans inside. Since public bins are scarce, customers are expected to dispose of packaging where they bought it. The empty water bottles we picked up earlier? Not from this store—so they go back into our backpacks for disposal at the hotel.
Near the station, we spot a woman in kimono. In Kyoto’s Gion district, photography of geiko and maiko is strictly prohibited without permission—violators face fines. These are working professionals, not tourist attractions. But this elegant woman is clearly not a geisha.
We gesture politely, pointing to our cameras and asking “OK?” with fingers and facial cues. She smiles and nods. We snap a few photos together. She tells us she teaches chadō, the Way of Tea, and is on her way to a tea ceremony. We bow and thank her profusely. You, quicker-thinking than me, produce a koala pin from your pack and present it as a token of gratitude. She beams, attaches it to her kimono, and clops away in her geta sandals. Moments like these make travel unforgettable.
Rush hour hits. We wait through several trains before squeezing onboard. Realizing we’ll be a few minutes late for dinner, we step aside after disembarking to call the restaurant. In halting Japanese, we convey: “A little late! Five or ten minutes!”
At the Restaurant
At the restaurant, we’re welcomed graciously. It’s refined—lacquered trays, polished chopsticks, elegant plating. We put away our water bottles and order drinks, miso soup, rice, and a selection of sushi.
Do you know how to use chopsticks appropriately? Never stick a pair of chopsticks vertically into a bowl of rice, or pass food directly from one person’s chopsticks to another. These actions are associated with Buddhist death rituals and should be avoided. And of course, we knew never to point with our chopsticks—also considered rude.
I ask the waiter if I can keep the lacquered chopsticks as a souvenir. He gently declines but offers wooden disposable ones with the restaurant’s name on the paper sleeve. A thoughtful substitute.
Back at the Ryokan
Back at our ryokan, we change into yukata, careful to fold the left panel over the right, (the opposite is another death ritual) and we slide into slippers. We head to the onsen to soak our bones in the natural spring water. Once inside the bathhouse, we undress and move to the showers to thoroughly wash ourselves with soap and water before submerging in the steaming bath. Ahhhh! We just sit there—no swimming, no splashing, no dunking our heads underwater. Like everyone else, we quietly soak in the blissful, peaceful waters of tranquil Japan.
Reflection
Politeness, attention to detail, and sensitivity to the environment go a long way when visiting a foreign country. The more mindful we are as visitors, the more authentic and rewarding our experiences will be. As we soaked in the onsen at the end of the day, we realized that the reason it had been so satisfying was that we had been prepared. We had read up, leveled up, and wisened up. We’d been the best travelers we could be. In short, we nailed it!
For more on Japanese etiquette, check out Amy’s book:
📘Amy’s Guide to Best Behavior in Japan: Do It Right and Be Polite!