First time in Japan? This is the smartest way to explore it all

While you could explore Japan on your own, there's something to be said for having someone else do all the hard work for you; letting you focus on enjoying the experience rather than logistics.

That's where group tours come in, where you trade off being able to decide every detail of what you do, with not having to decide every detail of what you do.

I'm on a 13-day trip with the guided tour company Collette, which has been in the business since 1918. The itinerary is designed to showcase Japan's past and present, offering a great taste of this destination-of-the-moment to first-timers like me. It's a cultural journey on the main island of Honshu, from Tokyo to Osaka, with stops in Nara, Hiroshima, Ise-Shima and Mount Koya. The 23 of us - ranging from solo travellers in their 80s, to a family with a tween daughter - are travelling by bus, bullet train and boot (the step-counter got a workout). We're staying mostly in four-star hotels, but also with the added experience of a night in a monastery.

The itinerary keeps us busy. And we don't have a care in the world. Here are 14 highlights - a must on anyone's first trip to Japan.

Considering the delicate way we have been taught to make tea, every action specific, measured and dignified, the wave of barely muffled giggles is understandable as we each loudly slurp down the last gulps.

Our host, impeccably clad in her kimono, has guided us through the precise steps, one by one - hold your hand like this; lift gently; exactly one and a half scoops; only two taps; make sure you can hear the water falling; hold your cup with the beautiful part to the left when you drink, then move it to the front when done; don't forget to bow.

Even well short of the traditional three hours in this Tokyo room set up to mimic a traditional tea house, it is almost a spiritual experience and more art form than anything. But without that slurp, how else would the host know you have enjoyed it?

They only become more beautiful, albeit heartbreakingly so, when you discover what they mean.

There's a gust of wind, and dozens of tiny pinwheels - representing the Buddhist cycle of life and rebirth - start twirling at such a speed their beautiful colours start to blur and you fear they are about to take off. But they don't, as the tiny stone Jizo statues are clutching them tight. They in turn are rugged up for the wind with tiny red hoods and bibs.

Here at Zojoji temple in the Tokyo ward of Minata, there are more than 1000 of the Jizo statues. It is known unofficially by some as Kosodate Jiz, or the Unborn Children Garden. In Japanese culture, Jizo is the guardian of unborn children, including those lost before birth, and of those children who have died before their parents, causing them grief and leaving the children unable to go to the afterlife.

No trip to Japan could be complete without a 320 kmh ride on a bullet train. But the journey from Tokyo to Ise-Shima, and then between Hiroshima and Osaka is so smooth, it's almost a disappointment.

While the scenery whips past in a blur, the ride is gentle and silent, and before you know it you've crossed a big chunk of the country. The seats are large and comfortable, it's incredibly punctual and you wonder why anyone would want to fly instead. On the right trip, you might even spot Mount Fuji.

Dotonbori is like an arms race for your attention. The signs get bigger and more elaborate, to the point giant crabs or a dragon the size of a small car wave their claws at you. Shopkeepers call out, and music comes at you from all sides, blurring into a cacophony.

But perhaps most alluring is the smell of fresh takoyaki, the area's speciality - creamy balls of deep-fried octopus - wafts under your nose. This is the home of Osakan street food, and I'm glad I didn't have a big breakfast.

The background murmur of people chatting among themselves quickly dissolves as we get to the entrance. The first sign, accompanied by a large photo of a wounded young girl, says it all: "The reality of an atom bomb." There's a warning that what we are about to see is confronting, and if we have children with us we should talk to them.

About 140,000 people died after the atomic bomb was dropped at 8.15am on August 6, 1945, some instantly, but others later as the deadly effects lingered. Many more lives were changed in an instant, and the memorial tells some of the stories of those there that day. There are the melted metal and glass masses that were once something, and the rubble, and the steel girders bent by the sheer force of the blast.

But it's the more mundane things that hit you hardest. The school uniform, one side shredded, the other still with the faint stain of blood. What you can still tell is a tricycle, even though it's melted. The "shadow" left where a man had been sitting on steps, waiting for the bank to open. There are the photos, both before and after. There are the stories of those who went to work or school and were never seen again.

The exhibition is emotive and personal. Parents clutch their children's hands that little bit more tightly, and I can't help thinking of my own. It takes a moment to walk to the next exhibition and it's only then that the murmur of voices resumes. That next exhibition is a much more factual telling of the process that led to the bombing from the American point of view, and the spread of nuclear weapons ever since. The matter-of-fact way it explains what happens contrasts starkly with the first - until you get to the gut punch at the end showing the US and Russia stepping back from their non-proliferation agreements and modernising their arsenals again.

The incongruity of what we are doing only grows when the Amazon delivery arrives as we wait outside to check in. It keeps growing as we make our way past the vending machines of beer and instant noodles (the monks must be aware their meals are not for all). But it peaks as we get to our rooms and see that as well as the traditional futon on the tatami mats, there is reverse cycle air conditioning, TVs and ensuites.

We're having an overnight stay at the Sekisho-in monastery, about 90 kilometres south of Osaka at Mount Koya, effectively the spiritual home of Japanese Buddhism. While it at first feels like a cultural experience mashed into a high-end backpackers lodge, it's really the epitome of Japan - old cultures and modern ways fused together.

We gather early in the morning in the prayer room. The room is dark, and it takes your eyes a moment to adjust so you can see to the other side. Brass statues and crimson red banners cover the tables. Rich, dark cedar pylons hold up the ceiling, which has hundreds of brass lanterns covering every spare inch, leaving little head space. The pylons are as weathered as the face of the head monk, who is just finishing setting up. He can't be taller than five feet, and with his robes and generous smile, he's pretty much the monk from central casting.

Calligraphy and oil paintings hang on each wall, shelves are crammed with plaques and the room is so full, it's just short of claustrophobic. The musty smell of stale incense hangs in the air, and we all sit silently as he moves from candle to candle, lighting them.

The wooden boards on which we wrote our names and prayers earlier lay neatly at the front. A bell rings, and the monks' deep baritone chant begins. It's both monotonous and mesmerising, and occasionally punctuated with a single beat of a drum. Those making offerings are invited forward to collect their board, and make their way to another shrine on the side. We kneel, silently make our prayer then move towards the small fire that is now burning and place the boards in it, making the fire grow larger.

Smoke billows towards the ceiling, carrying our prayers to the gods.

They're not joking, I think, as I trudge up the seemingly endless steps, sweat dripping down my forehead. By now, the seething mass of people at this Kyoto landmark has thinned out and there's the chance to enjoy the gorgeous scenery.

Just those committed ones among us remain, determined to make it to the top of the 1300-year-old Shinto shrine to the god Inari. The bright orange torii gates are packed in tight, effectively making a passageway along the path. It's a good thing, as it gives you some shade as you climb. Each one has been donated, some by individuals but mostly local businesses, and the size of the donation determines the size of the torii.

They get their name on it, of course. I didn't bother to count, but by the time I make it back to the bottom, I am confident 10,000 is not an understatement.

OK, let's get the main bit out of the way. Yeah, it's a bit awkward at first. I'd never shared a bath with a member of the same sex before. But really, how different is it to the locker room after a match? Plus, there's no Trevor with a rolled up towel keeping everyone on their toes.

Instead, after a long day trekking, there's the chance to soak in gloriously hot water and feel those strains melt away, like I did at Nemu Resort on the coast of Ise-Shima. Make your way through the three steaming baths and sit, soak and take a moment to relax. You will lose track of time, but be careful not to spend too long. And hot tip: leave the phone behind. This is not an Insta-moment, no matter how carefully you plan to crop that selfie.

The cooking classes are some of the things I've been most excited about on the trip. Japanese food, so fresh and artfully made, has been the highlight as expected, and I'm looking forward to picking up a few tips. First are the ladies from the Women's Association of Kyoto, who show us how to make sushi rice, chahan and egg rolls. They take us step by step through several small dishes, which we carefully decorate. Are they as beautiful as the ones created by our hosts? Well, that's in the eye of the beholder. I also come away with a new cookbook, and know I'll be adding a few new dishes to the rotation when I get home.

It contrasts starkly with the class, run by cooking school Okosta, preparing okonomiyaki - a type of pancake, almost - on a giant shared grill a few days later in Hiroshima. With our paper aprons and hats, a lead teacher on loud speaker and a chef on hand to show us what to do, this is the more energetic style of cooking.

That fear that sits deep in your stomach starts to ease as we get there and discover it's different these days, and you don't sing in front of a room full of people (well, there are places, but it's not as common now). Instead, we head into a giant complex filled with individual booths. It'll just be our group in a small room. Is that better or worse?

It turns out to be better. For a start, there are multiple microphones and the music is loud enough that it's hard to tell just how off-key we are. And naturally there's beer and wine. While there's a distinct lack of Australian tracks, there are plenty of classics and before long we are belting them out without a care in the world.

We're a mix of women and men, young and old, experienced and first timers, fit and, well, not quite as fit as we used to be.

The studio is a pavilion on a nearby hill, the gorgeous view of woodlands all around, and a glimpse of the ocean nearby through a gap in the trees. We've gathered for an hour of yoga in the early morning sun. It alternates between peaceful and serene. Close your eyes and you can hear the birds and the wind gently rush through the leaves; you can feel that same breeze across your body and the sun on your face. The language barrier can be a bit of a challenge for a yoga newbie like myself, as you find yourself taking a quick surreptitious glance each time she speaks - just to make sure you're not going to be the one left standing there, eyes closed, being "in the moment". Thankfully, none of us doze off and snore.

As importantly, it's also the chance to stretch out and get ready for the day. Although the focus on toes is a tad surprising, and I am confident mine will never move like that. Arms and legs twist at what can feel unnatural angles. But afterwards, you do feel that little bit more lithe, a little bit more ready for the day. It's time for a big breakfast, and it now feels earned.

You don't see any of those "don't feed the animals" signs here. Before you can see one of Japan's largest bronze Buddhas, you need to brave the gauntlet that is Nara Park. Thousands of deer wander freely around the park, footpath and even across the road, in search of rice "deer crackers" that are conveniently sold for 300 yen (about $3) nearby. They've been conditioned over the years to bow, knowing that it's more likely to make someone smile and hand them another deer cracker. Just be aware that once you have these crackers, you are going to be the centre of attention whether you like it or not - just don't try to run.

There is, quite literally, an unspoken rule in many subways around the world. You don't talk to the other commuters. The Japanese subway takes this up a notch. Signs warn you to turn your phone ringer off. We're just on the cusp of peak hour, but already the carriage is full. Really full. Not just I-don't-get-a-seat full, but forget-about-the-concept-of-personal-space full. And just as you think we are packed as tightly as can be, a few more businessmen get on - backing in to more easily push people further into the carriage. They - just - squeeze in without getting trapped in the closing doors.

OK, you've no doubt heard about the toilets in Japan. There are buttons, they do things. Push one and see what happens. It'll be warm, just like the pre-heated seat. Reluctant? One of the buttons is to mask the embarrassing sounds. Just think of it as ... an experience.

The writer was a guest of Collette.