Part 2 of Japan Journey: The First Blossom

After making my way through Japanese customs, I was thrilled to be greeted at the airport by Yoshi, who announced with great enthusiasm, “The first cherry blossom has bloomed!”

How auspicious, I thought, to arrive on the day of the first official bloom.

At first, I imagined there was only one cherry blossom somewhere in this vast city of 14 million people. Where, exactly, would I find it?

Yoshi helped me with my luggage and escorted me to the car for the drive into Tokyo. Outside, the landscape around Narita was overcast and gray, strangely reminiscent of arrivals in London. Highway signs appeared in both Japanese and English as we sped past apartment blocks, industrial buildings, and tiny cars that looked like oversized toasters.

Tokyo is a city of staggering scale. More than 14 million people live within the city limits, while the greater metropolitan area is home to roughly 37 million residents – the largest urban population in the world. As we crossed the Edo-gawa River and entered a landscape of gray roads, gray buildings, and gray skies, I began to understand Yoshi’s excitement over a single pink blossom.

Like many things in Japan, the first bloom carries layers of meaning. It signals the end of winter and the arrival of spring while predicting that the cherry trees will reach full bloom within seven to ten days. Then, almost as quickly, the blossoms fall, their petals carpeting the ground in shades of pink.

The season is also closely tied to the Japanese concept of mono no aware – an awareness of life’s beauty and impermanence, and the quiet sadness that accompanies the passing of all things. It was impossible not to think about that as I traveled. This journey to see loved ones came only six months after my mother’s death, during what I had come to think of as my year of grief travel. The timing felt less like coincidence and more like a gentle lesson in acceptance.

We crossed another broad river, the Arakawa, and Tokyo’s skyline emerged in muted blue-gray tones. Pale towers rose in the distance as boats bobbed below us on the water. The cityscape shifted from industrial to sleek and futuristic, a vast expanse of concrete, glass, and steel stretching toward the horizon.

Sometime later, I arrived at my first hotel.

I was eager to see my fairy goddaughters, Alpha and Olivia, but because of my delayed arrival they had already spent the day together. Rather than disappoint me, the news made my heart sing. They had gone shopping, explored the city, and discovered how much they had in common. I loved knowing that these two young women I treasured – one living in Spain, the other wandering the world for the past several years – had bonded so quickly.

They were still out exploring when I checked into the Park Hotel Tokyo. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed not to see them immediately, but that was remedied soon enough.

Because of my missed flight, I had already lost my first night at the hotel and a guided tour I had booked. Still, I was eager to experience a Japanese high-rise hotel for the first time.

The Park Hotel checked many boxes. The lobby occupied the 25th floor, while my room was several stories higher – a common arrangement in Tokyo, where hotels often occupy upper floors to maximize city views. The room and bathroom were compact by Western standards, though not nearly as tiny as another room we would stay in later that week.

The hotel’s bar and restaurant had a distinct Lost in Translation atmosphere. Soft jazz played in the background while the staff were unfailingly gracious and attentive. The Park also served our favorite hotel breakfast of the trip: a lavish buffet and the prettiest eggs Benedict I’d ever seen, balanced precariously on a curved wooden plate that threatened to send the bright orange yolk sliding away. Across the room, another diner was engaged in a similar rescue mission involving a runaway cherry tomato.

After a welcome night’s sleep, it was time for our next adventure. Olivia and I headed to the famously confusing Tokyo Station to catch a train north to an onsen, where hot mineral springs awaited.

I had arrived.