A Japan Adventure Between Brothers in Arms
Every time I travel with my camera, I try to capture more than just a scene. I chase moments. I wait for a feeling to land in the light.
This trip to Japan was different.
It wasn’t a mission, a deployment, or even a job. It was a guy’s trip, one that doubled as a visual pilgrimage and a celebration of turning 40. However, I didn’t want to travel alone. Months in advance, I called up my Army buddy, Justin Morelli, and asked him if he’d be willing to join me.
Justin and I have both worn the uniform, both carried a camera in combat zones, and both stubbornly defended our camera brands ever since the Army brought us together to test out new gear years ago. He’s Team Canon. I’m Team Nikon. Some rivalries never die.
We didn’t “grow up” in the Army together, but we’ve been friends for a long time. We also share some unit assignments, and we both have the same mission-focused DNA. We have the same itch to document the world as we see it
Justin serves as a master sergeant in the 200th Military Police Command, a unit I once served with in the Army Reserve. I had always wanted to go to Japan, but my wife was never interested. The food, the crowds, the language … none of it appealed to her. So for my 40th birthday, I decided to stop waiting. I asked Justin if he’d go with me.
He said yes.
He was already an experienced world traveler, having visited dozens of countries. So even though I had never stepped foot in Japan, I felt comfortable going with someone as cultured and experienced in travel as him.
And just like that, it turned into the photo trip of a lifetime.
Cameras First, Itinerary Second
We spent nearly 10 days covering Japan, from Tokyo to Hakone, Osaka to Kyoto, and finally Kobe. Our feet averaged 10 to 14 miles a day. Our sleep? Maybe four hours a night. But the camera shutters never stopped.
We didn’t travel for Instagram. We didn’t follow a tour guide or chase trending hashtags. We wandered back alleys, temple paths, vending-machine-lit streets. We lingered in places most tourists would have passed by. Why? Because the light was good. Because the moment was building. Because two Army-trained shooters know how to read more than just the terrain. We wanted to encounter strangers and immerse ourselves in a culture with its people, emotion, and opportunities
One of our favorite surprises came at a Tokyo Giants baseball game. I wasn’t sold on the idea at first. I mean, I’m from Pittsburgh. I root for the Steelers, not the Pirates. American baseball is boring to me.
But Justin convinced me to go. Turns out, Tokyo baseball is electric. The energy felt more like a football stadium than a sleepy ballpark. When the crowd started waving their orange towels, it felt like Heinz Field. Sorry, I mean Acrisure Stadium (It will always be Heinz to me).
For a brief moment, we put the cameras down and just lived. It was some of the most fun I ever had at a sporting event.
A Kimono, A Club, and a Dog Treat
One night in Tokyo, we were wandering near our Airbnb when Justin spotted a woman in a full kimono walking briskly down the street. She was elegant. Timeless. He pointed her out, and I chased her down. With Google Translate in hand, I asked if I could photograph her.
Instead of saying no, she motioned for us to follow.
She led us into a closed-door private club she owned. Originally, it made Justin nervous because he knew what “private clubs” could mean. I was oblivious to that potential danger. As it turns out, it was a private lounge for celebrities and politicians. I photographed the woman – I could never really make out her name using the Google translate app – and at one point her dog made an appearance, begging for his owner’s attention.. A few moments later, a tray of what looked like dried fish snacks arrived. The club manager handed one to Justin and motioned to eat it.
Justin hesitated. The snack was meant for the dog.
It was a hilarious cultural misunderstanding and a perfect moment caught somewhere between curiosity, politeness, and dry fish.
The Mountain That Hid
From Tokyo, we arrived in Hakone with one goal in mind: photograph Mount Fuji.
It sounded easy. The images I’ve seen everywhere online on tourist websites were iconic. We’ve all seen the site in pictures. A majestic peak reflected perfectly in still waters, cherry blossoms framing the mountain like a postcard.
Reality check: Fuji doesn’t always show up for you.
Our first evening, the mountain was completely hidden. The sunset sky was stunning with pink and deep red clouds, but Fuji refused to make an appearance. So we did what Army guys do: we adapted. Changed our plans. Stayed another night. Woke up at 3:30 a.m. twice. On the second morning, she finally revealed herself. It was magic. Not a perfect, postcard moment, but in our own way it was better. It was something we had earned.
Brotherhood in Every Frame
As much as this was a photography trip, it was also about brotherhood.
Justin is one of the few people I can talk to for an hour straight on the phone—despite the fact that I hate phone calls. We’ve both served as mentors at the DoD Visual Storytelling Workshop. We’ve been through deployments, career changes, life transitions. We’ve leaned on each other for years from afar.
This was the first time in a long time we shared real time together in the flesh.
We laughed. We got lost. We got scolded harshly during one cultural blunder, when we began putting on our shoes six inches too soon inside a sacred temple. We pushed each other creatively, always trying to outshoot the other. But more than anything, we bonded. Not just as fellow NCOs. Not just as camera guys. But as friends.
A Personal Turning Point
This trip came at a crossroads in my life.
I had just taken a deferment from my federal job with the Army Corps of Engineers to pursue photography and video production full time. I run my own company now, producing documentaries, brand films, and commercial work. Government life had drained my creative soul, and it was time to leave.
I submitted my resignation just a few weeks before the Japan trip, and suddenly I felt a rush of doubt and fear, remembering one scary fact: “When you return home from Japan, you will be jobless.”
Having Justin there calmed my nerves. He reassured me of my talent and all the opportunities that awaited me.
This trip was the reset I didn’t know I needed. It reminded me why I fell in love with the camera in the first place. Not for the paycheck. Not for the portfolio. But for the story. For the stillness. For the way a frame can hold onto truth when words fall short.
Our Osaka Connection
One of the personal highlights for me came in Osaka, where I got to reconnect with my old friend Stefano Riccardi. Stefano and I go way back. Our fathers used to work together at the Vatican, and over the years I’ve been lucky to visit him during my travels to Italy. He’s one of the most solid dudes I know, and it meant a lot to finally introduce him to Justin.
Stefano was in Japan on a six-month assignment supervising a Caravaggio painting for the Vatican’s pavilion at the World Expo in Osaka. Not only did he give us a private tour of the Caravaggio display, but he also helped us skip the line at the American exhibit.
I kept joking, saying, “We better walk into that American display, and it better be full of guns.”
Instead, we were greeted by an animated, singing star cartoon who walked us through the history of the U.S. space program and future advancements in tech. It was oddly charming. Unexpectedly wholesome. But it was definitely obvious that the display was created with a Japanese audience in mind. Still, very well done.
More Than a Guy-Trip
In addition to being a friends’ photo trip, this was also a work assignment to produce a missionary video project for RP Global Missions.
After Justin flew home, I stayed a few extra days in Kobe to capture the stories of four Reformed Presbyterian churches that have been faithfully planting gospel seeds in Japan for more than 70 years.
It was powerful to sit with Japanese believers as they shared their testimonies and declared their faith in Christ. In a culture where Christianity is often viewed as foreign or misunderstood, their commitment to Christ spoke volumes. These weren’t loud conversions or emotional altar calls. They were steady, faithful men and women raising families, living quietly, and carrying the hope of the gospel in their everyday lives.
Christ offers freedom regardless of ethnicity or cultural blockades. His love doesn’t stop at borders, and his grace translates into every tongue.
I’m still working through the editing of that video story now, and I’m incredibly grateful to RP Global Missions for trusting me with the opportunity to help share their mission and prayerfully spread the gospel across Japan.
Final Thoughts
By the end of the trip, we’d taken planes, buses, bullet trains, boats, Ubers, and more trains. We averaged a dozen or more miles by foot, and hundreds of miles of transit between stops across Japan’s vibrant cities and tranquil countryside.
But the real journey happened between the clicks of the shutter and the silences in between.
I don’t know what the next adventure will be. But I know who I’ll call.
And I know I’ll bring my camera.
