Just like me 32 years before, the travelers I am guiding have never been to Japan. And just like me 32 years before, as I buckle my seatbelt today, I feel a sweep of emotions: Will I be able to show these eager travelers the elusive, layered riches that have so captivated me? Will they love Japan as much as I do? But mostly, this time, I feel the way one of my first freshman English students put it when she wrote about attending university in Tokyo: ''I am so exciting to be here!''

On a sunny August morning in 1977, I boarded a plane for Tokyo and a two-year teaching fellowship at a university in the suburb of Mitaka. I had no idea what awaited. All of my experience and almost all of my study to that time had been focused on North America and Western Europe. Japan was a vast blank on my life-map.

 

As I boarded that plane — and realized there was no turning back — I felt a sweep of emotions. On one end was extreme trepidation. What would Japan be like? What would the people be like? Would I make any friends? Would I be able to understand the culture? Would I like the culture? How would the living conditions be? Would I be able to survive two whole years?

 

At the other end was extreme excitement: What would the country be like? What would the people be like? Would I make any friends? Would I be able to understand the culture? When we travel to a new place, we hold hope and fear in the same embrace.

 

Looking back, these worries seem sepia-toned artifacts of an earlier, ignorant-innocent age. As it turned out, I fell in love with Japan and its culture, from the crazy-crowded-neon-skyscraper confines of Tokyo to the tranquil-willowed-lantern-templed quarters of Kyoto to the ancient-mountained-piney-farmhouse wilds of Shikoku. I fell in love with a daughter of Shikoku as well, and as a result, over the past three decades, Japanese family and friends, traditions, landscapes, and beliefs have woven like fine silken threads through the kimono of my life.

 

Now it is a sunny November morning in 2009, and I am once again boarding a plane bound for Tokyo. This time, however, I am not a novice teacher on a two-year fellowship but a private tour guide accompanying an enthusiastic American couple on a two-week wander. Just like me 32 years before, they have never been to Japan. And just like me 32 years before, as I buckle my seatbelt today, I feel a sweep of emotions: Will I be able to show these eager travelers the elusive, layered riches that have so captivated me? Will they love Japan as much as I do? But mostly, this time, I feel the way one of my first freshman English students put it when she wrote about attending university in Tokyo: ''I am so exciting to be here!''

 

Why am I so exciting? I can't wait to feel the electric pulse of Tokyo again, to be swept along in the surge of the crowds, to ogle the extravagant shop windows, and to exult in the intricate attentiveness materialized in everything from a perfectly packaged slice of strawberry shortcake to a back-alley bonsai garden. I can't wait to experience again the dizzying, delighting diversity of Tokyo, from uber-au-courant Roppongi and Omotesando to old-country Nippori and Asakusa.

 

I'm also exhilarated at the prospect of returning to Kyoto, especially in the fall. I can't wait to see the rock garden at Ryoanji, one of the planet's most sacred places; the girdling hills like an obi shot with green and red and gold; the soul-soaring terrace at Kiyomizu-dera and the mossy magnificence of Koke-dera; the exquisite simplicity of Katsura Rikyu; and the gentle treasures of Kyoto's back streets, centuries-old craft shops and neighborhood temples.

 

And it makes me realize, once again, that anticipation is one of travel's great gifts. Before we even arrive at a place, anticipation re-charges and re-focuses us; it's like a whetstone sharpening our appetites and perceptions. So my long-ago Japanese student was right: I really am more exciting to be here.

 

The other thing I realize, as I realized abundantly three-plus decades ago, is that I don't know all that awaits me on this trip. And that's probably the most exhilarating prospect of all. In 35 years of exploring the world, I have come to know Japan as well as anywhere — but I still have no idea what serendipitous discoveries and revelations will grace this autumn odyssey. The possibilities quicken my heart and head.

 

Ten hours to go until we land in Tokyo. What wonders await?!