Steven Callas

I arrived in Tokyo in late March, during the early wave of sakura season. From Haneda, a private car took me into the city and across the Sumida River, where cherry blossoms were already blooming along the riverbanks. My first stop was Hoshinoya Tokyo, a luxury ryokan built vertically. The floors are tatami. Guests remove their shoes at the entrance. Every room has a cedar bathtub and floor-to-ceiling shoji screens. Mine overlooked the city skyline, softened by the haze of early spring. 

Dinner that night was a multicourse meal in the hotel’s dining room, where the chef designs each dish around the twenty-four microseasons in Japanese agriculture. Highlights included grilled bamboo shoots with sesame miso and a sashimi course served over hand-chipped ice. The room was quiet. The lighting was low. Nobody rushed. 

Morning Temples, Evening Bars 

I spent the next morning walking through Ueno Park, where the cherry trees had opened fully. Local families gathered under the branches with bentos and beer cans, laying out blue tarps in the traditional hanami style. I visited the Tokyo National Museum, which is inside the park, and spent an hour with the ceramics and scrolls before walking south through Yanaka Ginza. This part of the city feels like an older version of Tokyo, with narrow alleys, small shops, nothing built for speed. 

In the evening, I had a reservation at Den, a Michelin-starred restaurant in the Jingumae neighborhood. The tasting menu was relaxed but technical, with playful takes on Japanese home cooking. One course arrived in a takeout box with the chef’s business card taped to the side. It was deliberate without being rigid, which summed up a lot of what I liked about Tokyo. 

Kyoto at Peak Bloom 

From Tokyo Station, I took the Shinkansen south to Kyoto. The train pulled in just after noon. My driver met me on the platform and brought me to Sowaka, a former teahouse in the Gion district that has been converted into a luxury ryokan. My suite had two rooms separated by sliding doors and opened onto a small private garden planted with moss and camellias. The blossoms here were slightly ahead of Tokyo. Petals had already started falling into the stone water basin outside. 

In the afternoon, I walked the Philosopher’s Path, which follows a narrow canal lined with cherry trees. The path winds past small temples and traditional houses, some of which open seasonally for tea or sweets. I stopped at Omen, a soba restaurant I’ve returned to more than once, and had noodles served with young bamboo shoots, daikon, and mountain vegetables. They served warm barley tea in thick ceramic mugs. 

At sunset I visited Kiyomizu-dera, one of the best places in Kyoto to view sakura after dark. The temple’s wooden stage was lit from below, and the blossoms hung like clouds along the hillside. The crowds were quiet. I stayed long enough to watch the lights change from white to soft pink. 

A Slower Pace in Arashiyama 

On my final full day, I visited Arashiyama, west of the city. The bamboo grove is often crowded, but arriving early made all the difference. I walked through just after 8 a.m. before continuing on to Tenryu-ji, a Zen temple with one of the oldest gardens in Kyoto. From there, I crossed the river to a small teahouse near the Iwatayama monkey park and ordered matcha with a wagashi sweet shaped like a cherry blossom. 

That evening, back at Sowaka, I had a private kaiseki dinner served in-room. The courses reflected the season: white fish wrapped in sakura leaf, simmered vegetables in yuzu broth, fresh yuba, and a dessert of strawberry and anko. Afterward, I sat in the open-air lounge and listened to the rain begin to fall. The petals had already started to come down in clusters. 

Final Notes 

Cherry blossom season in Japan isn’t just about the flowers. It’s about timing. Arriving a few days too early or too late shifts the whole experience. But when it lines up, there’s nothing performative about it. No background music, no scripted moments. Just a seasonal rhythm that everyone knows and lives with.