The Best Cherry Blossoms in Japan

And why it might kill you to see them

Every northern spring the cherry blossoms bloom in Japan. They follow the increasing warmth from south to north, and as the wave of pink moves through the island nation, so too does the attention of the Japanese people, the Japanese media, and a drifting horde of tourists.

The newspapers publish maps and timetables, giving the percentage of trees in bloom, offering the first photographs, and generally being joyfully and totally over the top in a uniquely Japanese frenzy.

You always remember the first fallen blossom

The first time I encountered sakura — as the locals call them — was in Hiroshima on my first visit to Japan. I had a guide for this trip, an English language teacher in Osaka, and he was invaluable. My previous overseas trips had only been to English-speaking lands, and here not only could I not speak the language, but I was functionally illiterate in the characters.

I felt I needed a guide, and he arranged everything for me. What to eat, what to do and see, where to go. Bought all the tickets. I’m enough of a girl to enjoy that, though nowadays I feel confident in organising my own travel.

Hiroshima, apart from being a locus of remembrance, was also a focus of Japanese sakura excitement. There were avenues of cherry trees dripping pink petals onto the gravel paths beside the river, upon which cruised a boat blaring out music and clouds of pink bubbles from some dispenser at the stern.

There were sober-suited businessmen having picnics on the grass, holding out their cups of saki to catch falling blossoms — a sign of good fortune — from the trees being shaken by the office juniors. Later they would all be drunkenly, but politely, widdling into the bushes.

Television crews prowled up and down, capturing the atmosphere, and gaining an interview with a blonde Aussie, who observed that it was like being in a real-life science fiction cartoon movie.

It was a surprisingly emotional day for me. I hadn’t expected to be weeping by the end of it, but there it was.

Fast forward

I had been lucky to catch the blossoms in full glory, and some years later I was again lucky. But this time I was the guide, and my companion followed my lead. We explored Kyoto, and I was able to take the public bus to the beginning of the Philosophers’ Walk.

Without speaking Japanese or understanding the symbols, mind, but I was confident that if I went astray, some kindly local would set me straight.

picnic for two — a fallen cherry blossom in both cups — Graham High

The Philosophers’ Walk is a track beside a stream which runs down from the hills above Kyoto. Now mostly tamed and encased in stonework, it is beautiful at any time of the year. Well worth a contemplative stroll.

But when the sakura fall, the lines of cherry trees overhanging the water let their blossoms drop, forming tiny pink boats, then rafts, then a solid carpet of petals. It is an amazing sight.

Luckily we had it all to ourselves and could take as many photographs of the loveliest bits as we wished.

Along with half the population of Japan, it seemed.

Japanese are keen photographers at the best of times, and the sound of the day was the constant click-clack-click of full memory cards being swapped out for fresh ones.

Every vantage point had a dozen shutterbugs leaning over the water. Little ornamental bridges over the stream creaked under the weight of cameras, let alone humanity.

Luckily the crush thinned out a little as we went higher. Just the dots of pink petals on the dark water, rather than the wall-to-wall mats further down.

One day we strolled down the Philosopher’s Path, which proved as enchanting as I had hoped in the fragrant pink bloom of spring. Since ancient times, the Japanese have heralded the arrival of the cherry blossoms because they symbolize the ephemeral beauty of life. ― Victoria Abbott Riccardi, Untangling My Chopsticks: A Culinary Sojourn in Kyoto

And serene with it

I could wish for a more perfect place to contemplate the beauty of nature, but in all my travels I would be hard-pressed to find one. Hordes aside, the path of contemplation took us higher under the pink-dripping trees, each bend, each little vista a perfect outlook.

Here there were temples, there a teahouse, and all around the calm beauty of a landscape crafted just so, not a pebble out of place.

The sakura, ephemeral in themselves, dropped down into the gentle current and gained a second voyage of life, floating along with their fellows and becoming clouds of glory at the bottom of the hill.

Walking hand in hand with a lover was a sweet delight here, and we looked into one of the teahouses along the path to prolong the experience.

Delightfully Japanese to be served tea in the garden, but to our Western eyes a possible source of faux pas and embarrassment.

Sit on the wrong thing, use the wrong utensil, say the wrong words. We went inside for a little privacy, where the passing philosophers might not lean over the wall and giggle at us.

Inside, we found a table in a dark corner, where we were served exquisite portions of soup and tea and unidentifiable but delicious morsels. Maybe it is a breach of manners to photograph one’s meal, but it was so perfectly presented that I could not restrain myself.

Unlike the gusto and laughter of the hanami parties in the parks, here in this delightful teahouse, all was serenity. Voices were hushed, nobody slurped their soup, and there was time and space to enjoy the garden view.

Just a narrow strip of tulips under a maple tree before the next establishment began, but every centimetre of space is precious here, and crafted to maximum benefit.

I have had grander meals in my time, sitting at some lofty outlook with mountains and oceans before me, but the cherry blossoms, the quiet water, and this tranquil little teahouse stays ever in my memory.

In another life

If I were to live to a great age, I would love to come back year after year. Maybe find a lodging close by to walk the path at dawn, before the crowds arrive. Or on a full moon.

Or any time, really. Even the crowds have their own sweetness, a polite flow and a sharing of the best views. Don’t be the photo hog, and you will gain bows and smiles and the good wishes of those following the same path.

I loved every moment. We walked on up the hill to where the stream narrowed to invisibility, and Kyoto spread before us in its joyous disorder. There was an aqueduct here, and we strolled along, no guardrail to save us from a twenty-metre drop, and nobody caring a whit.

The train took us back to our hotel, and we fell into each other, lifted up by the beauty of the day.

A deadly beauty

The coronavirus has hit Japan, and still a month or more out from the sakura wave along the island chain, schools are closing, public gatherings being postponed, and there is even talk of cancelling the Olympics, surely a horrendously expensive decision for some committee to consider.

The crush under the cherry trees, the elbow to elbow stroll along the Philosophers’ Walk, even the buses and trains. All you need is a few infected with the virus — and they might not even know it themselves — and the thing spreads like a wave.

Here a few pink spots, but soon a sea of hospital beds.

No, I think that there will be no crowds along the Philosophers’ Walk this year, and no tourists willing to chance it.

funeral service cherry petals drifting round the coffin — Željko Funda

But there will be a vaccine next year, I am sure. If you haven’t seen the sakura in Japan, put it on your bucket list: something to experience before you die.

Britni

Britni Pepper writes for Kindle Direct Publishing. She runs a blog where she reviews erotica, and rambles on about this and that. She may be reached on Twitter and Facebook.

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