Embracing the Serene Charm of Cherry Blossom Season in Japan

A few years back, I decided it was time to embrace a new pace in life, one that wasn’t governed by the clock. I even sought therapy to confront my anxiety about time. "There is no tiger," my therapist reassured me. There was no lurking danger in the form of a predator or emergency. I argued that my metaphorical tiger was time—I couldn’t create more of it. So, in the spring of 2023, with time on my mind and a desire to forge memories, I journeyed to Japan to pursue the fleeting bloom of the sakura, or cherry blossoms. I sought to gain a deeper understanding of the country’s reverence for the transient. I wanted to rethink my relationship with time.

Sakura are deciduous trees. Their common name in English is misleading, as most varieties do not yield cherries. In the early 20th century, Japan gifted thousands of cherry blossom trees to Washington, D.C. as enduring symbols of friendship. Today, these trees flourish from Christchurch, New Zealand, to Macon, Georgia. Yet, the cherry blossom is a quintessential part of Japan, adorning significant shrines and temples, lining rivers and canals, and enhancing city parks. There’s a thriving industry built around the celebration of these trees; these brief, cherished bursts of Japan’s floral spectacle perfectly encapsulate the idea of "available for a limited time only." Retailers showcase special cherry blossom-themed treats and merchandise for just a few weeks each year.

“I would argue that it’s akin to the stars and stripes of the American flag,” states Tokyo Tourism Representative Hisashi Tsumura. “The cherry blossom, as Japan's national flower, is far more recognized than the rose in the United States.”

In Japan, the arrival of sakura signifies the end of winter. Several factors contribute to the opening of the buds, including warm winds, rising temperatures, and rainfall. While planning my trip, I selected three cities (Tokyo, Osaka, Kyoto) with varying bloom forecasts, hoping that somewhere along the way, the trees would be in full bloom, allowing me to partake in hanami, the cherished tradition of viewing and reflecting on cherry blossoms.

A complete sakura bloom lasts for about a week before it begins to fade and become delicate. These blossoms serve as a poignant reminder of life’s brevity. “With the cherry blossom’s extremely short blooming period, some may experience a sense of transience, others may contemplate mortality, while many feel a deep gratitude for the opportunity to enjoy the flowers,” Tsumura shares with me. “I believe that’s what makes the cherry blossom such a meaningful flower for all of us.”

My flight lands in Tokyo at the end of March, and I can’t help but worry that I might be too late. This winter has been unusually mild, causing the city’s cherry blossoms to bloom nine days ahead of schedule. As I ride from the airport to my hotel, we pass along the Meguro River, and I catch a fleeting view of the trees through the rain. Dressed in their blossoms, they resemble fluffy cotton candy clouds, with shades of pink ranging from bubblegum to soft blush. Tokyo is currently experiencing an unusual multi-day storm, with fierce winds that make me anxious they will blow all the petals away. By the time the sun emerges, I fear the trees will be bare—I’ve traveled so far, yet there may be nothing for me to witness, let alone enjoy a picnic beneath.

Foiled by the weather in Tokyo, I board the Shinkansen (bullet train) to Osaka, Japan’s third-largest city. Built on the alluvial plains of the Yodo and Yamato Rivers, Osaka is a city shaped by water. Cherry blossoms tower over the numerous canals that weave through the city center. Here, the cherry trees are in full bloom, referred to as mankai, and it feels like every street corner is adorned with sakura pink, their branches stretching out towards the water.

One afternoon, I visit the Osaka Museum of History. The building overlooks the excavation site of the former Naniwa Palace, the first full-scale Chinese-style palace constructed in Japan in 652 C.E. This palace was destroyed by fire in 686; another palace, known as the (Latter) Naniwa Palace, was erected in the same location in 744.

During this era, known as the Nara period (710–794 C.E.), the tradition of hanami began. This custom emerged as philosophers reflected on the concept of temporality, inspired by the brief blooming periods of plum and cherry trees. Emperor Saga is often credited with hosting the first official hanami celebration beneath the pink petals of sakura in 812 C.E. "When hanami originated, it was a very solemn occasion," shares Tomoyo Kamimura, senior director of the Language Center at the New York-based Japan Society, a nonprofit organization dedicated to fostering understanding between the United States and Japan. "People gathered to compose poems under the sakura trees, admiring the blossoms' beauty while contemplating their fleeting nature. It embodies the essence of transient beauty."

The haikus of Bashō, the renowned poet from the Edo period (1603–1868 C.E.), capture the many interpretations of sakura:

The blossoms unwavering
my sorrow this unopened
pouch of poetry

A spring breeze is stirring
I’m overflowing with laughter
—longing for flowers

Kamimura explains that modern hanami has evolved significantly from its origins: Nowadays, celebrations focus more on enjoying traditional foods and attending festivals. Kamimura prefers the "old style" of hanami, where one strolls through parks to appreciate the blossoms’ beauty. On this trip, I’m determined to experience both styles.

From the top floor of the history museum, I catch a glimpse of Osaka Castle, one of Japan's most iconic landmarks, situated about two miles to the north. The sakura trees surrounding the castle form a delicate ribbon of pale pink, and I decide to make my way there. However, reaching the castle proves more challenging than expected, with several layers of moats, walls, and fortifications. After a mile of walking, my body insists on a break. I settle on a park bench, observing families on their picnic blankets, flying kites, and enjoying snacks from nearby food stalls. The weather is warm, and people take refuge in the shade of the trees, their bicycles neatly stacked against the trunks. On a small hill nearby, an older woman and a girl with pigtails play badminton, their teal rackets glinting in the afternoon sun. Children bounce down the steps of the castle’s main tower while their parents capture the beauty of the blossoms, zooming in on the individual petals of the sakura.

I can’t afford to waste time, I think as I survey the bustling crowd, an internal alarm echoing my purpose. I have a destination to reach. I rise and begin walking. However, when I arrive at the castle's innermost tower, I realize that no one else seems to share my sense of urgency; I appear to be the only one feeling this frantic. I ponder what might happen if I simply took a moment to slow down. The castle remains open for an extra hour that day to allow more visitors to appreciate the blooms. I grip the staircase railing, eventually reaching the summit. The sky is painted with shades of orange, and I find myself enveloped by hundreds of sakura trees. A wave of relief washes over me, and I silently thank my body for bringing me here, reflecting on the long journey I took to the tower.

Once I make my way down, I capture a photo of Osaka Castle framed by cherry trees. I’ve encountered countless renditions of this view, with the striking white of the building complemented by the delicate pink blossoms. After days of awakening and instantly checking the status of the flowers, I have finally witnessed their beauty firsthand. As the sun begins to set, I realize that this moment is unique and will never occur again; these very blossoms will not last, and even if I return to this exact spot, I will be a different person.

Sakura bloom when various weather conditions align. However, climate change is disrupting centuries-old weather patterns. The increase in greenhouse gas emissions results in warmer winters, making the blooms increasingly erratic. In 2021, Kyoto experienced sakura peak on March 26, marking the earliest bloom in 1,200 years.

Yoichi Mori, a certified arborist based in Kasuga, Fukuoka Prefecture, has observed changes in the weather. “Global warming is evident here,” he states. “We’re not seeing snow in places where we normally would.” While Mori works with various plant species, cherry blossom trees hold a special place in his heart. “Many flowers inspire me, but none as much as the sakura... It represents the essence of the Japanese spirit.” He is in awe of how the opening of the blossoms can halt an entire community to reflect. “Everyone is so moved, so touched,” he shares.

In the early days of Japan, there were three varieties of sakura. However, through selective breeding and experimentation, that number has greatly expanded. “By cultivating these types of cherry blossoms, we now boast around 800 distinct varieties,” Mori explains.

After spending four days in Osaka, I board a train to Kyoto. My first destination is the Kyoto Botanical Gardens, home to an estimated 450 varieties of sakura. Established in 1924, it is Japan's oldest public botanical garden. As I enter, I am struck by the variety of sizes and colors among the cherry blossom trees. The Kanzan variety is particularly impressive, with vibrant hot-pink blooms resembling roses more than their smaller Yoshino relatives. I stroll around to admire the different species—some with short trunks, others tall and slender. On the garden's edge, a weeping cherry tree bows low, its branches trailing gracefully over the lush green grass below. I stand quietly beneath various blossoms, inhaling their fragrances, which range from subtly nutty and sweet, reminiscent of amaretto, to a more overwhelming warm-honey scent. The scent of spring envelops me, and I delight in it. I meander through the garden, feeling lighter, my curiosity ignited. As I pass through the exit gate, I contemplate how each tree has its own blooming schedule; I feel fortunate to witness this moment. I realize I haven’t checked my watch even once.

Later that day, I have a lunch booking at Itsuki Chaya Arashiyama Honten, a café nestled on a small island between two branches of Kyoto's Katsura River. I walk most of the way to my destination, crossing the Togetsukyo Bridge, which stretches across the wide, shallow waters. The riverbank is draped in delicate pink, providing a striking contrast against the chambray sky and fluffy clouds above. The slate-gray water enhances the vibrant life flourishing along its banks.

As I stroll through the Arashiyama district, I spot a cluster of tents topped with bright primary colors. It appears there’s a sakura festival happening in the park, a delightful surprise not mentioned in any of the guidebooks or blogs I researched before my trip. I decide that after lunch, I will set aside my carefully crafted itinerary and embrace this unexpected joy.

I couldn’t have asked for a better afternoon. I wait in line at one of the festival stalls, ordering shiny candied strawberries on a stick, along with some sakura-flavored mochi. I then make my way to the river, where I find a bench to share with another festival attendee, sitting beneath the shade of a sturdy old tree.

As I savor my treats, I notice two elementary school girls in yukata (lightweight kimonos) making their way to the pebbly riverbank to play. I feel neither excluded nor entirely included in their world: The vibrant energy of the trees, the river, and the people celebrating spring envelops me. As afternoon turns to evening, I rise and shake the fallen petals from my pink-dyed braids, which I styled especially for this trip. The sakura season in Kyoto is nearing its end, and the petals are starting to drift down.

Two days prior to my return to the U.S., I board the Shinkansen from Kyoto to Tokyo. I take a seat on the left side of the train, gazing out the window in search of Mount Fuji. When it comes into view, its snow-capped peak stands out sharply against a radiant blue sky.

For a few moments, I am treated to an unobstructed panorama of the iconic volcano and the blooming Japanese countryside at its base. I ponder what thoughts might cross Mount Fuji's mind about our modern challenges. Regardless of the trials we face, it remains there, unwavering amidst the chaos of daily life. In various artworks, Mount Fuji and sakura are frequently depicted together, representing two iconic symbols of Japan that embody different aspects of time: one transient, the other eternal.

“Oh, you managed to see Fuji-san,” Yukari Sakamoto exclaims when I arrive at Tokyo Station. A chef and contributor to Dinogo, Sakamoto is taking me to explore depachika, the basement food halls of department stores, to discover how sakura is incorporated into the nation’s culinary delights.

At Takashimaya, the department store where Sakamoto previously worked as a wine sommelier, countless items adorned with cherry blossoms are marked with pink signs, numbering in the hundreds. From cheesecakes to chocolates and biscuits, everything is showcased in this delicate hue. The people around us move with a quiet determination.

Sakamoto elaborates on how the compound coumarin, present in cherry blossoms and leaves, imparts a scent to the foliage that occasionally reminds one of vanilla. As we explore different counters, I take in the aromas and taste traditional sakura mochi, sakura-flavored taiyaki (fish-shaped cakes filled with sweet red-bean paste), and pink dango, rice dumplings on a stick slathered in a sweet-salty sauce thickened with red-bean paste. We pause at Minokichi, a kaiseki restaurant boasting a 300-year legacy of serving fish. One of its signature dishes is sakurazushi: sea bream wrapped in rice and draped with a salted cherry blossom leaf. The rice is delightfully springy, and the fish flakes apart effortlessly. The floral essence of the sakura is the last note to reach my palate. I take a larger bite, feeling satisfied.

On my final night in Japan, I make my way to the canalside area of Tennozu Isle and descend 50 steps to an open-air catamaran. I find a seat in the center and observe as fellow passengers board. A few businessmen in navy suits retrieve beers from their bags, gearing up for the celebrations to come. We are all here to partake in the evening ritual of yozakura, which involves enjoying cherry blossoms illuminated by lights.

As everyone settles in, the boat sets off, heading deeper into Tokyo. From my seat, I gaze at the banks along the canal, witnessing the conclusion of sakura season. Petals fall gently onto the water's surface, swept away by the current. I watch the soft blush of the petals swirl into the darkness and reflect on how I've embraced stillness during this trip, finding fulfillment in observation and patience. We move forward into the night, leisurely, savoring the moment.