The very light cherry blossom weighs its own in Japanese tradition and culture. For the ancient samurai, the way in which the sakura (this is the name of the cherry blossom in Japanese) still fresh from the tree, blown by soft winds, symbolized the ideal of dying by arms, fully, and not when the years would have covered them with rust and fear.
Legend has it that the delicate pink patina of the sakura was due to the harakiri (ritual suicides) that the samurai committed for honor or to comply with the order of a superior: when the time came, these proud elite warriors used to open their bellies next to the cherry trees, which, watered like this with blood, turned the white of their flowers into a subtle pink that has remained indelible.
Fantasies aside, the spring blossoming of the cherry trees has been an event for the Japanese for centuries, masters of the serene contemplation of nature. So much so that they even have a word –hanami, “to see flowersâ€â€“ that names the custom of stopping to observe the ephemeral beauty displayed by the cherry and plum trees. When March arrives, the inhabitants of the Land of the Rising Sun remain attentive to the forecasts of the Japan Meteorological Agency, which warn of the arrival of the phenomenon towards the end of that month or the beginning of April (although not only at this time: in autumn they bloom some species of plums).
Hanami is celebrated throughout Japan. Leave your mark on stores, food and drink, artwork, clothing, decorative items, and even tattoos. It constitutes an excuse to gather to celebrate the arrival of light and the warmer days: life. Groups of family, friends and even work colleagues – the power of corporate culture is great there – gather in parks and festivals to enjoy the beauty of the flowers and their evanescent scent, often at highly civilized picnics. It is common to reserve a place in parks and gardens days in advance. No karaoke or drunkenness, although alcohol is drunk: we are facing something festive, but refined.
In the case of Tokyo, there are plenty of places to indulge in hanami, also in its nocturnal variant, called yozakura, in which artificial lighting adds magic to the phenomenon. One of them is the Shinjuku Gyoen National Park, 60 hectares for peace and contemplation located between the neighborhoods of Shinjuku and Shibuya, to which many Tokyoites escape at the slightest opportunity. Its English garden displays some 1,500 cherry trees of different varieties that, when they bloom, reconcile one with the world. As it is a protected space and sake does not flow (alcohol is prohibited), the hanami is purer there.
The spectacle spans the megalopolis (around 14 million inhabitants) and impregnates you with an appreciable zest for life in the atmosphere of sakura festivals: the Bokutei Sakura-Matsuri, for example, gathers among cherry trees planted on the banks of the river Sumida stalls that brighten up a kilometer-long boulevard framed by the pale pink of flowers. If we stand in the Chidori-ga-fuchi moat of the old imperial palace, a 700-meter walk between blossoming cherry trees transports us to a world like something out of a Hayao Miyazaki anime. During the Sakura festival in Chiyoda, it is possible to do it in a rowing boat.
We can also soak up hanami at the Sakura-Matsuri in Ueno Park, and while we’re at it, visit its zoo and museums; at the Koganei Cherry Blossom Festival (more than 1,700 trees of 500 varieties); or among the cherry trees of Rikugien, some gardens built in 1702 where the yokazura impresses. Let’s not forget the plum trees: in Hanegi Park, known for its great variety of this fruit tree, the Setagaya Plum Festival (the district where it is located) is held: there, the floral bud is accompanied by local cuisine and a colorful program of activities.
In any corner, the beauty of the flowers lurks at the beginning of spring, vital and nostalgic at the same time, as the poet Kobayashi Issa (1763-1828) expressed in a haiku: “How strange / to be so alive / under the flowers of the cherry tree!”
We have come to Tokyo to relax with the first airs of spring, and why not take it among furniture, toys, ornaments, watches, ceramics, kimonos and all kinds of objects and treasures loaded with years? We don’t usually associate this city with street markets and outdoor markets, but it does have them, in abundance and of quality, as befits a city of this size. The relaxation that we find among blossoming cherry trees is also found browsing (and buying) among merchandise stalls that call locals nostalgic and surprise foreigners.
If you’re into antiques, write down the names of several open-air markets where you can find them. The Gozare-ichi of the Takahata-fudo temple (many of these “shopping centers” are located next to shrines and religious sites) is located in the west of Tokyo, and forces us to get up early (it opens at seven in the morning and half an hour). public transport separates it from the center), but it’s worth it. Leaving it without buying anything is a challenge that few overcome.
If your budget is tight, head to the Kasai Shinto Shrine Antiques Fair in the northeast of the capital. And if what you are looking for is a traditional kimono, be sure to visit the Hanazono-jinja Shrine in Shinjuku. Like the Madrid flea market, it opens every Sunday, and its thirty stalls stand out, in addition to the aforementioned kimonos, for their furniture, paintings and scrolls. The Oedo Kottoichi Antique Market and the Tomioka-hachimungu Kottoichi are also very enjoyable. Let yourself be advised by the antique dealers, even if it is through gestures: Japanese merchants are not into haggling, you will hardly get anything at a bargain price. And don’t forget to check the opening hours and dates, they can change unexpectedly due to the celebrations in the sanctuaries or depending on the weather.
In addition to antiques, you can find everything – and excellent locals and food stalls – in the many markets scattered throughout Tokyo’s streets, almost always with a nearby subway stop. The one at the Ohi racecourse, the one at Yoyogi Park, the one in Shibuya, the one at Chuo Park in Shinjuku… The list is long, and browsing through them is synonymous with returning home loaded with Japonisms.
Tokyo is a hectic and gigantic city. Next to it, Madrid or Barcelona seem like large towns that are not too hectic. The blinking lights, the shops of all colors and the continuous movement of crowds leave little room for calm. Perhaps this is the ultimate reason for the survival of hanami, and that of another tradition linked to nature that soothes the body and soul: bathing in the kuroyu (literally, black hot springs).
Its striking darkness is due to the decomposition of plants and organic matter, which fills the water with nutrients and makes it ideal for moisturizing and softening dry skin. The establishments where you can take them are called onsen, and they abound in Japan, an archipelago rich in hot springs of volcanic origin. Escaping the bustle to immerse yourself in one of these places and return to the outdoors relaxed and recharged with energy is an activity that no one regrets.
In Tokyo and its surroundings there is plenty of offer; To name just one onsen, we recommend the Yumori no Sato, in the vicinity of the Jindai-ji temple, the oldest in the capital (8th century). It’s in a small building in an alley, and from the outside it doesn’t look like much. But its warm lighting, its woods, its services (massages included), its tubs of water at different temperatures, its remarkable and affordable restaurant, and its rest area would soothe the mind and senses of Lucifer himself.
Haruki Murakami, one of Japan’s most famous novelists, explains it in his book What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. The author of Tokio blues started running at the age of 32, aware that he needed to move to alleviate the physical damage of so many hours sitting at a desk. At first, he couldn’t last more than 20 minutes of “pig jogging”. In 2008, when he published his sports reflections, he had completed 23 marathons and dozens of long-distance races. He wrote: “I just run. I run in a vacuum. Or maybe I should say it another way: I run to get a vacuum. And what else is meditation?
What is this paragraph about? Because Tokyo celebrates its marathon every spring, one of the most popular and prestigious in the world. We haven’t made it to this year’s edition (it took place on March 5), but why not follow Murakami’s example and prepare for 2024, which will be around the same dates? Running through the masses can be as relaxing as bathing in the pink light of cherry blossoms. It’s just a matter of perspective.
