Inspired by The Alchemist: A Soulful Journey Through Setouchi, Japan | Invityz

Hi, I’m Ahiru.

I recently took a short trip that turned out to be far more meaningful than expected. Today, I’d like to share a few reflections from that time—particularly how it unexpectedly tied into some things I’ve been feeling since starting my freelance journey.

A few weeks before the trip, I happened to reread The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. To my surprise, the words from this simple, beautiful story kept echoing in my mind as I moved through each day of the journey.

It’s one of those rare books that seems to speak gently to your soul—one that I want to keep beside my bed, always within reach.

The story follows a young shepherd named Santiago who dreams of finding treasure at the Egyptian pyramids. Trusting his dream, he sells his flock and sets off alone on a journey toward the unknown.

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Where the Sky, the Sea, and the Town Melt Together

“The darkest hour of the night came just before the dawn.” — The Alchemist

By the time I boarded the night train, I was already emotionally drained. I wasn’t sure what this trip would bring—but something inside nudged me forward, and I decided to go, before I had time to overthink it.

When I awoke, morning light was filtering in, and we were crossing the Seto Ohashi Bridge. I spent part of my childhood in the Setouchi region. Looking out the window at the soft gradients of sea, sky, and town blending into one another, I felt my anxious thoughts begin to loosen.

“How long has it been since I came this far from home?”

Yes, I’d traveled with my family before—sometimes even farther in distance. But those trips always felt… close. Comfortable. Everything carefully planned, booked, and optimized. This time felt different. Unpredictable. Unscripted. More like an old-fashioned journey—complete with the possibility of surprise encounters.

And with that, something shifted. A quiet excitement began to replace the vague unease I had brought with me.

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Replacing Every Drop of Sweat

Let’s ride the Shimanami Kaido, I thought.

That was all I had decided in advance. I made my way—on foot, under the blazing sun—from an unmanned station to a bike rental shop near the bridge. After some much-needed shade breaks, I rented a mamachari (a humble mom bike with a child seat), and off we went.

I didn’t really know how far it was, or how steep. I just pointed the bike toward Kirosan Observatory on the nearest island and started pedaling.

“When you want something, all the universe conspires to help you achieve it.” — The Alchemist

The uphill climbs were brutal and relentless. I was soaked with sweat. Aquarius sports drinks and mineral water had replaced every ounce of fluid in my body. And yet—strangely—I felt lighter with every pedal stroke.

Needless to say, I was the only one attempting this on a mamachari.

When I finally reached the summit, the sherbet I had was the best I’ve ever tasted. The view wasn’t just beautiful—it felt familiar, like a memory I didn’t know I had. It was only the first day of the trip, and already I found myself thinking, “I’m really glad I came.”

Side note: I picked up a UV-blocking hoodie at Tokyo Station before leaving. That UNIQLO parka quite literally saved me from being roasted alive. Highly recommended.

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The Gift of Not Knowing

“If you start out by promising what you don’t even have yet, you’ll lose your desire to work toward getting it.” — The Alchemist

That climb reminded me of something important: sometimes, not knowing is a blessing.

If I had known how hard it would be… how long it would take… or how few people would even attempt it on a regular bike… I probably wouldn’t have gone.

But because I didn’t know, I could move forward with a strange kind of confidence—rooted not in facts, but in possibility.

There’s something powerful about entering the unknown with a slightly reckless, “Maybe I can do this?” mindset. That leap of faith often brings unexpected rewards.

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Final Thoughts

Travel, especially the kind where you lose signal, sweat through your shirt, and laugh at your own poor planning—has a way of rebalancing the heart.

In retrospect, this journey was never just about cycling or sightseeing. It was a gentle but powerful reminder: sometimes we have to let go of the plan, and trust the movement.

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Thank you so much for reading!

If this post sparked something in you or made you pause and think, I’d love to hear from you.

Feel free to leave a like or share your thoughts in the comments — it really means a lot.

Until next time,

Ahiru