At Nagoya International School (NIS), we believe that meaningful learning goes far beyond the classroom. It is experiential, rooted in real-world contexts, and thrives on the positive relationships that grow between students, teachers, and peers. Our annual Secondary Retreats, usually held at the start of the academic year, is an important tradition that sets this tone.
In late August, students in Grades 6–12 embarked on their respective three-day retreats, accompanied by their Homeroom Teachers and NIS staff as chaperones, and guided by experienced outdoor instructors at each location. Each retreat is designed to strengthen community, nurture resilience, appreciate nature, and invite students to inquire, inspire, and impact both themselves and those around them.
This time, I joined the Grades 9 & 10 Retreat at the Suzuka Youth Center in Mie Prefecture. What I witnessed was not just a retreat, but a journey of connection, reflection and growth.
As soon as students stepped off the bus, their phones were collected for the next three days. For many, this was the first challenge! Without digital distractions, they had to tune in to their surroundings and the people around them.
Instead of staying within their own grade groups, the Grade 9s and 10s were mixed and divided into smaller activity groups. Each group learned to bond together through warm-up activities, icebreakers, and by setting their own team agreements. Quickly new students were able to feel more welcomed into the community, while also allowing the returning students to see familiar peers in new ways.
An observation walk around the center encouraged students to study the environment with fresh eyes: trees, plants, insects, and wildlife. They were also encouraged to collect natural textures they found along the walk so that they could use in their yakisugi woodcraft projects later. Despite the late summer heat and the initial discomfort of being without phones, hanging out with peers outside of their usual friendship circle, students began to learn how to be mindful, listen to nature, notice details, find focus, and work as a team.
That evening, we set out for a night walk. For many, walking in darkness brought discomfort, even fear. But soon, the teens became curious about the biodiversity of the night. They tried to identify the sounds of crickets, raindrops dripping from leaves, and their own footsteps crunching along the path. We paused to admire the moon framed softly by drifting clouds. One student asked me the time, and instead of checking my watch, I encouraged them to guess. It became a moment to contemplate the flow of time and space, and even the smallest surprise of a correct guess brought joy to the group. One student reflected: “In the beginning, I was not comfortable about being in this kind of darkness in the woods, fearing spiders, bugs or any other kinds of wild animals, but slowly I got used to my surroundings and started to feel more at ease being in a place with little light pollution in the wilderness.”
The second day was full of activity and collaboration. Groups learned how to orient themselves in the trekking area by using maps and compasses, then built simple shelters with limited materials.
By lunchtime, the camp was filled with the aroma of students’ freshly made curry. They invited me to try and waited with anticipation as I tasted. Each team’s curry carried its own unique flavor, but what stood out most was their teamwork. In each group, some students managed the chopping, others mastered fire, while a few adjusted flavor and timing. Together, they cooked and then cleaned, leaving the space spotless. It was a simple but powerful lesson in cooperation and shared responsibility, and enjoying the work of group effort!
This day also brought excitement on the water; kayaking, racing, and swimming in the lake, where laughter and cheers echoed across the shoreline.
But the evening’s campfire left the deepest impression on me. I had never thought deeply about fire before—its existence and its meaning. Watching the students, under the instructors’ guidance, light torches and ignite the carefully built woodpile was almost ceremonial. Sparks leapt into the night sky, the crackling flames lit up faces, and gradually the noise faded into silence. Some of us stared into the fire, lost in thought.
I found myself reflecting: since ancient times, fire has given humans warmth and light, protected us, and allowed us to cook food. In wilderness survival, the ability to create fire remains a vital skill. That night, fire became more than a necessity; it became a moment of connection and reflection. Around it, students roasted marshmallows, learned practical fire-making techniques, and shared insights from the day. It was festive, but also deeply educational.
On the final morning, we visited a nearby beach. What awaited us was heartbreaking. The sand was covered with trash—plastic packaging, leftover food, and items carried in by the current. The smell was sharp and unpleasant, and among the debris lay at least two dead sting fish, silent reminders of the damage caused to marine life.
As a school that cares deeply about sustainability and environmental stewardship, NIS teaches responsibility toward the natural world. But seeing this beach in person was far more powerful than any classroom lesson. We were shocked by the sheer amount of waste. In just one hour, together we collected 2,360 kilograms of trash. Much of it had been left behind by visitors during Obon, while some had drifted ashore from elsewhere.
This was a painful reminder that our choices are interconnected—what one person discards may affect the life of another, human or animal, nearby or far away. Standing there, I felt a renewed conviction that sustainability is not an option; it is a responsibility.
After the cleanup, students enjoyed the beach they had helped restore. They played volleyball and waterball, and some sculpted sand lounges to cool off. It was a fitting way to end: working together to repair the damage, then celebrating in a cleaner, healthier environment.
Over three days, I saw students grow in ways that cannot be measured by grades or tests. They learned to:
The retreat was not only about outdoor skills or adventure; it was about building community, courage, and care. It gave students the space to reconnect with nature, with each other, and with themselves.
As we returned to campus, I carried with me the images of students laughing, struggling, helping, and reflecting—moments that will continue to shape their year ahead, and perhaps their outlook on the world far beyond school.