A couple of hours north of Tokyo by train, you’ll find yourself in the quiet town of Niigata. My stop here wasn’t planned—it came from a moment of spontaneity and a need to escape the noise of 14 million people.

For three days, I built a simple bubble. I found a local pizza place that hit the spot—and honestly, that was the only place I ate at the entire time. The nightlife? Barely there. But I wasn’t in Niigata to party.

It was the second day that left an impression. I wanted to see what a “beach” in Niigata even looked like. Not to swim—just to walk, to remember it.

I took a bus to the stop closest to the shore. After a short climb up some stairs, I found myself in a small forest. The path was clear, but what caught my eye were the trees—leaning diagonally, like they’d been shaped by years of ocean wind.

Then came the ocean. Calm, quiet. Not water you’d jump into, but perfect to admire. I walked onto the jetty, passing local fishermen until I reached the end. Waves crashed against the sides. It was a view that didn’t try too hard—and it didn’t need to.

Later, I wandered back into town and strolled along the river. The light that day felt different, like I was seeing everything with the eyes of a kid again.

I wasn’t searching for anything in Niigata. And that’s when I found the most.

I’ll miss the pizza and prawns.