SPRING THAT HITS ALL THE SENSES

You step into a Japanese city, and suddenly, your visual perception shifts: the world turns pink, petals float in the air, cling to the hair of passersby, drift across the river’s surface, dance through the streets. The wind carries them like confetti, and you walk through a scene that feels like it’s been filtered through the lens of a nostalgic dream.
Cherry blossoms don’t bloom slowly. They explode. They burst, flare, and vanish—leaving you with a fleeting sense of something untouchable, something that won’t last long but will stay with you forever. In that moment, there’s no rush, no noise, just the realization that you’re catching a moment you’ll miss for the rest of your life. Memento mori, if it were a person.

TOKIO: A CITY IN SAKURA TRANCE

Tokyo isn’t a place where cherry blossoms are admired in silence. Tokyo is a typhoon! Maybe I’ll always associate it with that vibe because that’s how I first saw it—caught in a whirlwind of atmospheric chaos. The rain poured down like a monsoon, but Stefan and I didn’t stop. Keep walking! That’s when I finally understood the phrase, “There’s no bad weather, just bad clothing.

Luckily, we had the right clothes (and shoes), but even more than that, an insane drive to keep going. Transparent umbrellas became a way of life. The city was soaked and stunning. We were exhilarated. That was the day I fell in love with rain.

After rain, there’s always a rainbow. Here, it was Meguro River. I stumbled upon it by accident and had one of the most magical experiences of my trip. Here, cherry blossoms fall directly into the water, while skyscraper lights reflect between the petals. Walking along the river felt like stepping into a pink-tinted dream, as if someone had erased the boundary between reality and fantasy. That was the night I fell in love with unplanned destinations.

Is this really a hanami festival? Yes. People spread out blankets under the trees, pop open bottles of sake, and turn their small picnics into gatherings that last until sundown. My first real shock was in Ueno Park—everyone was there. Couples, families, elderly people sipping matcha (but without making a concept out of it) and gazing up at the pink canopy above them. The wind carried the scent of cherry blossoms and the warm breath of spring. It was crowded, but no one cared. That was the day I learned to love crowds

And then—Shinjuku Gyoen. More than a thousand cherry trees of different varieties, blooming in every shade of pink. Expansive lawns, quiet serenity. It felt like stepping out of Tokyo’s chaos and into a pocket of calm. People lounged on the grass, laughing, sharing food—nothing was rushed. Here, time didn’t exist. That was the moment I learned to love pink.

• Ueno Park – Total chaos and the best picnic vibe. Crowds, sake, laughter, and petals everywhere.
• Meguro River – Cherry blossoms falling into the water, Tokyo reflecting in them. A dream for slow walks.
• Shinjuku Gyoen – Escape from the madness into sprawling lawns and a serene, fairytale-like atmosphere.
• Chidorigafuchi – Romantic scene with rowboats under cherry trees. Feels like a movie.
• Yoyogi Park – The most laid-back hanami – like a giant urban picnic full of laughter and good energy.

You’re sitting in a Shinkansen, the bullet train gliding through the landscape as if defying friction. Outside, cherry blossoms flicker past the window in soft pink blurs—like a GIF stuck on three frames. In Tokyo, there was rain; in Kyoto, perfect zen awaits. But here—somewhere between worlds—there is only the rhythmic pulse of the train and the feeling of being somewhere, yet nowhere at the same time.

At one point, we pass a small, forgotten station. No tourists, just an elderly Japanese man in a coat, calmly waiting for a train of his own.

We both fell silent, lost in thought… and then—Kyoto Station.

KYOTO: CHERRY BLOSSOMS AS A WINDOW TO THE PAST

Kyoto isn’t Tokyo. Time moves differently here. I wander through the old Gion district, passing by traditional wooden houses, and suddenly, I see a group of women in kimonos walking beneath cherry blossom trees. I can’t tell if I’m looking at the present or some distant memory from centuries ago.

The Golden Pavilion is already in perfect harmony with its surroundings, but when the cherry blossoms reflect on the lake’s surface, the scene feels surreal. It looks like a carefully composed image from a Japanese ukiyo-e print.

And Arashiyama? It’s not just a bamboo forest. It’s a place where cherry blossoms grow between the slender bamboo trunks, blending into a vision of nature’s perfect balance. I walk through the quiet, the sounds muffled, the scents crisp, and the light filtering through the branches as if passing through a magical veil.

• Gion – Vintage Japan vibe, cherry blossoms and kimonos at every corner.

• Golden Pavilion (Kinkaku-ji) – Iconic zen scene with blossoms reflecting in the water.

• Arashiyama Bamboo Forest – Cherry blossoms + bamboo = pure nature magic.

• Maruyama Park – The ultimate Kyoto hanami spot, steeped in old-world charm.

• Heian Shrine Garden – Perfectly manicured gardens, an oasis of peace in the city.

Osaka is a completely different story. Here, hanami isn’t just in the parks. Here, it’s woven into the city’s rhythm, tangled with the energy of a place that never really sleeps. Osaka Castle Park is the classic spot for hanami, but the real magic happens in Dotonbori.

At night, cherry blossoms glow under the reflections of neon signs, while people sip cocktails in colors that blend perfectly with the petals above them. Osaka doesn’t celebrate hanami in silence—here, you drink, eat, dance, and feel like you’ve stepped into a Japanese film where everything is too intense to be real. And that’s the whole point.

• Osaka Castle Park – A classic hanami postcard moment, with the castle in the background.
• Kema Sakuranomiya Park – Relaxed atmosphere along the river, packed with locals.
• Dotonbori – Neon, cherry blossoms, chaos, and cocktails in sakura shades. Osaka at its peak.
• Tsurumi Ryokuchi Park – A lesser-known but stunning garden for those who want a quieter hanami.

You only understand the true value of hanami once it’s over. When the petals fall, when the rain washes the streets clean, when Tokyo returns to its concrete tones, when Kyoto becomes just an ancient city again, when Osaka stops glowing in pink.

But something remains. That feeling of walking through a whirl of petals, hearing the laughter of strangers beneath the trees, inhaling the scent of cherry blossoms mixing with the evening air. You can’t take it with you, but it stays in you forever.

Everything flows, every journey is life in miniature. It starts out planned, but always unexpected. It can be chaotic, and sometimes full of rain. Then, you find your pink-tinted glasses, and the sun shines again. After that, there’s the breakup (with the destination), the goodbye (to the destination), and the end (of the magic).

If this is what life after the … end feels like, I’m okay with it.

That’s the souvenir I brought back from Japan.

Am I now officially recognized as an ikigai life coach?