Between Steam, Snow and Silence: Memories from Classic Japan

A First Glimpse of Japan in May

There is a particular softness to Japan in mid-May. The air has warmed, but not yet surrendered to summer; gardens are intensely green; rain, when it comes, seems to polish rather than obscure. Our Splendid Classic Japan departure of 15 May 2025 began, as so many great journeys do, with the quiet suspension of an overnight flight from London — the gradual letting go of one time zone, one season, one familiar rhythm.

By the time the group arrived in Tokyo, Japan had already begun its gentle work: the precision of the airport, the courtesy of small bows, the clean-lined ease of the transfer into the city. Tokyo can overwhelm at first, but it also knows how to reveal itself in layers. From the hotel, the city was not a single place but a living constellation: glass towers, tiny noodle counters, vending machines glowing like lanterns, crossings that moved with astonishing choreography.

Tokyo from Above, Tokyo by Water

The following day gave us Tokyo in two opposing but complementary ways: from the sky and from the river. At Tokyo SkyTree, the group rose above the Kanto plain, the lift so swift it felt less like ascent than transformation. Below, the city spread beyond easy comprehension — a silver and slate expanse threaded with roads, rail lines and neighbourhoods, its immensity softened by distance. On clear moments, horizons hinted at mountains.

Later, the Sumidagawa Cruise offered another reading of the capital. Bridges passed overhead; riverbanks slipped by; the city’s vertical drama was replaced by the rhythm of water. The visit to Meiji Jingu brought a different kind of quiet. Beneath the forest canopy, footsteps became softer, voices lowered. The shrine’s broad wooden gates and gravel paths seemed to gather the city’s noise and set it gently aside.

Fuji, Steam and the Road to Matsumoto

Leaving Tokyo, the landscape began to open. The road towards Hakone carried the group into a Japan of slopes, lakes and sudden views, with Mt. Fuji the hoped-for presence at the heart of the day. At the 5th Station, weather permitting, Fuji was less an image than an atmosphere — cool air, volcanic earth, a sense of height even before looking upwards. Its summit has been painted and photographed endlessly, yet in person it refuses to become familiar. It stands apart.

Hakone added heat and mineral scent to the day. At Owakudani Valley, steam rose from the earth in pale columns, carrying the sulphurous tang of hot springs. Lake Ashi, by contrast, offered stillness: water, hills, distant reflections, the kind of landscape that invites people to stop speaking for a moment. By evening, Matsumoto welcomed us with a quieter mood, a mountain town with its own measured pace.

Through the Northern Alps

For many, the Tateyama Kurobe Alpine Route became the journey’s defining passage. In late May, it holds a remarkable tension between spring and winter. Lower valleys were green and alive, but higher up the mountains still kept their snow — not as a decorative trace, but as architecture.

The route unfolded in stages, each transfer adding to the sense of crossing a hidden threshold: coaches, mountain transport, changing altitudes, changing light. The famous snow walls rose beside the road in pale, sculpted corridors, their surfaces marked by melt, shadow and time. There was delight in the sheer scale of them, but also humility. Japan is often praised for its human refinement — gardens, temples, trains, cuisine — yet here the country spoke in an older language of rock, ice and weather.

Arriving in Toyama felt like descending back into spring. The body remembered warmth again.

Gardens, Samurai Streets and the Taste of Takayama

Kanazawa brought elegance in concentrated form. Kenrokuen Garden, counted among Japan’s great gardens, was not merely beautiful; it was composed. Water moved carefully, pines leaned with intention, moss held the damp light. It invited slow looking. Nearby, Kanazawa Castle and the preserved samurai district of Nagamachi offered another texture: earthen walls, narrow lanes, the interior restraint of Nomura House, where craftsmanship and discipline felt inseparable.

At Omicho Market, refinement gave way to appetite. Stalls brimmed with seafood, pickles, fruit and the busy theatre of local commerce. The scents were immediate: grilled shellfish, fresh wasabi, soy, rice, steam.

Takayama, reached the next day, felt like stepping into a smaller, older cadence. At Takayama Jinya, history was not grandly announced; it lingered in tatami rooms, wooden beams, administrative spaces that once managed the affairs of the region. In Sanmachi, the historic district unfolded in dark timber façades and narrow streets. The sake breweries were a highlight not simply because of the tasting, but because sake here tasted of place — clean water, polished rice, patience, winter labour transformed into something bright and warming.

Kyoto’s Gates, Gold and Bamboo

Kyoto did not arrive gently; it arrived in vermilion. At Fushimi Inari Taisha, the shrine’s torii gates climbed the hillside in vivid succession, each one framing the next, each shadow briefly cooling the path. It is a place of movement and repetition, yet it retains mystery even among visitors. The eye keeps following the orange line upwards.

Kinkaku-ji, the Golden Pavilion, offered a different kind of intensity. Its reflection on the pond was almost too perfect, the gold changing with the light, the surrounding trees deepening its brightness rather than softening it. Later, in Arashiyama, the bamboo grove turned the world vertical. The stalks rose clean and green, shifting in the breeze with a dry, papery murmur. Walking there felt less like visiting a landmark than entering a living instrument.

The next day deepened Kyoto’s sense of ritual. Kiyomizu-dera, with its elevated wooden stage, opened onto views of the city and surrounding hills. The kimono and tea ceremony invited guests into slowness: the weight and fall of fabric, the deliberate turning of a bowl, the fine bitterness of matcha, the grace found in doing one thing properly.

Nara added warmth and wonder. At Todai-ji, the Great Buddha sat within immense timber architecture, serene and formidable. Outside, deer moved freely through the park, approaching with a confidence that delighted the group. Their presence made the sacred feel approachable, almost domestic.

Osaka’s Height, Hiroshima’s Silence

Osaka shifted the energy once more. The castle, seen from outside, stood as an emblem of power and reconstruction; the Umeda Sky Building gave us the city from above — roads, towers, rivers and neighbourhoods spreading in every direction. At Shinsaibashi, evening brought neon, shopfronts, food aromas and the quickened pulse of urban Japan.

Then came Hiroshima by Shinkansen: 331 kilometres in an hour and a half, a journey so smooth it almost concealed its own speed. The bullet train remains one of Japan’s great modern experiences, not only for its efficiency but for its quiet confidence. Landscapes passed in a fluid sequence of towns, fields, stations and sea-glimpsed distance.

Hiroshima asked for a different kind of attention. At Peace Memorial Park and the Atomic Bomb Dome, the group moved through spaces where history is not abstract. The surviving structure stands with devastating restraint. Around it, the city continues — trams, trees, schoolchildren, river water — and that continuity is part of its power. Hiroshima does not leave visitors only with sorrow; it leaves them with a sharpened awareness of resilience, memory and responsibility.

What Remains

By the final transfer to the airport, Japan had become more than a sequence of destinations. It was the hush before a shrine, the warmth of a tea bowl, the sudden white walls of alpine snow, the speed of a Shinkansen felt through the body rather than heard. It was Tokyo from the clouds and Kyoto through bamboo; Fuji half-veiled, perhaps, but unforgettable; Hiroshima dignified beneath a bright sky.

The tour lasted twelve days and eleven nights. The memories, as often happens in Japan, arranged themselves with far greater delicacy — small, precise, enduring.