It is a small, plastic brick that promises freedom, but demands a specific kind of servitude.
There is a ritual to arriving in Japan. You land, you clear immigration, and then you queue for the device. The Pocket Wifi. For years, this has been the standard operating procedure for groups, families, and data-hungry travelers. It is a physical object that you rent, carry, charge, and eventually return. It is a tangible manifestation of your link to the world. And like any physical object, it has weight—both literal and metaphorical.
I have carried these devices across the length of the country, from the snowy streets of Sapporo to the humid beaches of Okinawa. I have named them. I have cursed them. I have panicked when their battery indicators turned red in the middle of a hike. The Pocket Wifi is a paradox: it gives you the freedom to roam anywhere, but it tethers you to its battery life and its physical presence. You become a caretaker of the internet.
The utility is undeniable. For a group of three or four, it is economically brilliant. One device, one fee, multiple connections. It creates a local network, a digital campfire that everyone gathers around. "Are you connected?" becomes the group mantra. It works on the Shinkansen, it works in the basement of a department store, it works (mostly) in the mountains. It is reliable, robust, and fast.
But then there is the friction. The extra cable to carry. The power bank you now need to bring because the router dies at 4 PM. The panic of leaving it in the hotel room and realizing you are digitally naked. The return process at the airport, a final chore before you can fly home. It is a piece of logistics that you have to manage, another item on the mental checklist.
I remember a specific trip where I was the designated "router mule." My backpack contained the internet for four people. If I walked too far ahead, my friends would lose signal. If I went to the bathroom, the group chat died. I was a walking hotspot, a human antenna. It changed the dynamic of our movement. We were physically tethered to each other by the range of a wifi signal. It forced us to stay close, which was both a blessing and a curse.
There is also the issue of "unlimited" data, which is rarely truly unlimited. The dreaded throttle. You hit a hidden cap after uploading too many photos, and suddenly your high-speed connection crawls to a halt. The map stops loading. The translator fails. You are cast back into the analog age, betrayed by the very device you paid to protect you. It is a reminder that our access is always conditional, always metered.
Yet, for all its annoyances, there is something reassuring about the Pocket Wifi. It is a dedicated tool. It does one thing, and it usually does it well. It doesn't drain your phone's battery. It doesn't require you to mess with your phone's settings or swap out tiny SIM cards with trembling fingers. It is plug and play. It is a known quantity.
Is it for everyone? Absolutely not. If you are a solo traveler who hates carrying a bag, it is a burden. If you are a couple who likes to split up, it is a limitation. But for the family unit, the group of friends, the heavy data user who needs to work on a laptop in a park—it remains a viable, if imperfect, solution. It is a compromise we make for the sake of shared connectivity.