Fukuoka was the prefecture that tested me.
Not because it lacked beauty.
Not because there was nothing to see.
But because this was the point in the journey where I had to accept that not every prefecture was going to reveal itself easily.
This was Episode 7 of Project 47, my solo motorcycle journey across all 47 prefectures of Japan. Over three days in Fukuoka, I rode through temples, coastlines, city traffic, quiet mountain roads, and the final stretch of Kyushu.
It began badly.
Really badly.
And yet by the end of it, Fukuoka had taught me something important about this whole project.
Below is the journey across Fukuoka Prefecture.
Day 1 — A Rough Start
The day began at 6:00 a.m. at a beautiful campsite beside the water.
It should have been a perfect start.
Cool morning air. Quiet surroundings. A good place to wake up and get moving.
Instead, within the first moments of the day, the trip nearly went sideways.
The grass was wet, the ground was slick, and as I tried to move the bike, the rear slid out. Before I knew it, I was trapped underneath it with my boot pinned in the mud.
Not exactly the dream start to a prefecture ride.
Eventually I got my foot free and lifted the bike back up, but not without consequences. The shifter was bent, my hand was hurting, and I had that sinking feeling that I might have done more damage to myself than I realized.
As I started riding again, I could feel the pain in my hand immediately. Pulling in the clutch hurt badly enough that I had to start using different fingers just to manage it.
And yet, the ride had to continue.
That was Fukuoka’s first test.
The Goddess and the Strange Temple of Kurume
My first stop was one of the strangest temples I’ve come across in all my years in Japan.
Naritasan Kurume Temple is unlike the quiet understated shrines most people picture when they think of Japan. The entrance climbs upward through a long marble staircase and a series of elaborate gates, eventually leading to a huge statue of Kannon, the goddess of mercy.
The statue itself is enormous.
But the temple gets stranger the deeper you go.
Below the surface is an area known as Hell and Paradise, filled with animatronic displays that feel somewhere between a morality play and a haunted attraction. It’s unsettling, bizarre, and completely unlike anything else I’d seen on this journey so far.
After that, I headed to Dazaifu Tenmangu, and the contrast could not have been stronger.
Dazaifu — Order After Chaos
Where Naritasan felt theatrical and surreal, Dazaifu Tenmangu felt familiar, structured, and deeply rooted.
Dedicated to Tenjin, the god of learning, culture, and the arts, Dazaifu has been a major place of worship for centuries. Students, families, and visitors come here to pray for success, education, and the future.
The shrine itself is beautiful.
But by the time I got there, I was not in a good mood.
I hadn’t eaten since the previous morning. I was tired, sore, overheated, and Fukuoka so far felt more like endless urban sprawl than the kind of ride I’d hoped for.
At that point, if you had asked me how I felt about Fukuoka, I probably would have said I wasn’t loving it.
Then I found lunch.
Chili Chili — The Day Turns Around
After more than a day without food, I rolled up to a funky little spot called Chili Chili and ordered a hamburger curry.
That meal changed the day.
Not just because I was starving, though that certainly helped.
It was also the owner, Yan.
A great conversation, a good laugh, and a moment of genuine human warmth completely shifted my mood. I walked in exhausted and frustrated and walked out feeling like the whole day had been reset.
Sometimes all it takes is one person.
That was when Fukuoka began to change for me.
The road ahead no longer felt like something to endure. It felt open again.
Sunset Camp and a Better End to Day One
With the mood lifted, I stopped stressing about whether or not I would be able to camp and simply started riding toward a possible spot Yan had told me about.
The evening light was beautiful.
And when I arrived, the signs simply said to be respectful and not leave a mess.
That was enough for me.
I pitched the tent right there with the sunset glowing over the water.
It had started as one of the worst mornings of the trip and ended as one of those nights that remind you why you keep going.
That was Fukuoka’s second lesson.
A day can turn.
Day 2 — Itoshima and the Weight of Change
Day two began much better.
The bike was still upright. My hand still hurt, but I could ride. That alone felt like progress.
The plan was to head out toward Itoshima, a coastal area once known for its laid-back atmosphere and scenic roads. Years ago it had that sort of beach-town energy that felt relaxed and easy.
And in flashes, it still did.
Fishing boats in the morning light. Beautiful roads hugging the coastline. A forest trail leading out toward one of the spots associated with Totoro and Studio Ghibli imagery.
I timed the hike perfectly, reaching the area just before the first tourist buses arrived.
The landscape was still beautiful.
But the zone had changed.
The old relaxed vibe was mostly gone, replaced by paid parking, tourist buses, and the infrastructure that arrives when a place gets discovered too hard.
That disappointment hung over me for a little while.
So I changed gears and headed into the city.
A Psychedelic Detour — TeamLab Forest
The plan now was simple.
Go see something unexpected.
Then get some food.
Then check into a hotel and lean into the fact that Fukuoka is also a city prefecture, not just a countryside one.
That unexpected thing turned out to be TeamLab Forest.
I honestly thought it was just going to be a light-based art space.
It was much more than that.
Interactive installations. Strange optical effects. Rooms that mess with your balance and sense of space. Digital art that actually felt playful rather than cold.
It completely surprised me.
One of the coolest things I’d seen in Japan.
And exactly the kind of detour I wouldn’t normally have expected to enjoy that much.
The Missed Burger and the Gift of a Mandarin
From there I rushed off trying to get one more thing I had set my heart on — a famous burger and hot dog spot that closes early when it sells out.
I missed it.
Completely.
And I was genuinely bummed.
But then, as often happens on this trip, a stranger changed the mood again.
A woman came over, chatted with me for a while, and handed me a mandarin.
A tiny gesture.
But one of those moments that stays with you.
Not because it’s dramatic, but because it’s human.
That was another Fukuoka moment.
Another reminder that this journey keeps revealing itself through people as much as places.
The City, the Hotel, and a Different Kind of Night
I don’t love cities.
Anyone who knows me knows that.
Traffic, noise, signage, cables, concrete — all of it wears me down.
And riding through Fukuoka City was exactly that kind of visual overload.
But once I got checked into the hotel, showered, rested, and headed back out on foot, the city started to feel a little more manageable.
Street food. A Guinness. A real bed instead of the tent.
Sometimes the right move on the road is not to fight the place you’re in, but to let it be what it is.
That night felt like that.
Day 3 — The Main Event
The third morning started slow.
The street ramen from the night before had not done me any favors, so I took my time getting moving.
The goal for the day was the main event of Fukuoka:
Nanzoin.
Getting there meant dealing with more of the city first, and once again I found myself reflecting on how much of Japan is not cinematic mountain roads and hidden shrines. A lot of it is clutter, signs, traffic, and built-up urban space.
That’s part of the truth of the country too.
But eventually I arrived.
And Nanzoin was worth it.
Nanzoin and the Reclining Buddha
Nanzoin is not a sightseeing attraction in the usual sense.
It’s an active Buddhist temple and a place of worship. Because of that, the rules are strict and the atmosphere is different. You don’t walk around there loudly filming yourself. You keep quiet. You stay respectful.
And that changes the feeling immediately.
The path through the temple grounds is peaceful, shaded, and full of small details that slow you down.
Then you reach the reclining Buddha.
And the scale of it hits you all at once.
At 41 meters long and 11 meters high, it is one of the largest bronze reclining Buddha statues in the world, weighing around 300 tons.
Seeing it in person is something else.
Not just because of its size, but because of how unexpectedly calm the place felt around it.
After the traffic and noise of the city, it felt like an answer.
Finally Finding the Ride
From Nanzoin I headed off toward Day Trip Cafe to meet friends and get a coffee.
And for the first time in what felt like days, I found the kind of road I had been craving.
A mountain road.
Curves. Trees. Space.
The kind of road that reminds you instantly why you ride.
The bike felt good. The road was fun. And suddenly Fukuoka was making a comeback.
At Day Trip there was a group of riders already gathering, getting ready to head out for a coastal cruise. I called ahead, got the invite, and joined in.
And that turned out to be exactly what I needed.
Not another lonely push through traffic.
Just good people, coffee, bikes, and a ride.
What Fukuoka Actually Taught Me
By the end of that day, I knew I couldn’t finish the episode while still on Kyushu.
That wasn’t right.
This was the seventh prefecture. It was the end of my Kyushu loop. If I was going to close this chapter properly, I had to physically leave the island.
That meant one final push north through traffic and concrete toward the tunnel under the water.
Not the bridge.
The tunnel.
Because the bridge still felt too connected to the same land.
I needed the moment of transition.
And when I entered that tunnel and came out the other side onto Honshu, it hit me.
This thing was real now.
Project 47 had left my backyard.
Kyushu was done.
And Fukuoka, for all its frustrations, traffic, pain, missed food stops, and strange detours, had taught me something I genuinely hadn’t realized before.
This series isn’t always going to be about the biggest waterfalls or the best shrines or the perfect roads.
Those things matter.
But what’s going to stay constant, all the way through, is the people.
The people who feed you when you’re broken.
The people who hand you a piece of fruit.
The people who invite you on the ride.
That’s what Fukuoka gave me.
And that’s why, in the end, this journey tested me.
Not just physically.
But in how I understood what Project 47 is really about.
Kyushu complete.
Next stop: Honshu.