If you’ve spent more than five minutes with me, you know two things:

1. I lived in Japan for quite a while.

2. I will buy literally anything if it has a cat on it.

Japan, of course, turned this harmless preference into a full‑blown lifestyle hazard.

Walking around Tokyo or any Japanese town basically meant being ambushed, lovingly, relentlessly, by felines. They appeared on stationery, on chopsticks, on tea cups, on train passes, on socks, on umbrellas (yes, I owned that umbrella), and of course on an infinite array of snacks. I had long stopped pretending I had any “restraint.” I didn’t. If it purred, pawed, waved, meowed, or even vaguely suggested a whisker… it was coming home with me.

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If you’ve ever wandered through Kamakura, or better yet, hopped on the charming Enoden line, you know this coastal region is full of surprises. Temples tucked into hillsides, hydrangeas blooming along railway tracks, and little details that make you stop and smile. Today’s photo is one of those details: four tiny metal birds perched on a rail, dressed head-to-tail in bright red knitwear.

Yes, you read that right: knitwear for birds.

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If you’re looking for something that feels like a hidden gem, Ōfuna is your spot. It’s the kind of place most travelers breeze past on the train, but that’s exactly why you should stop. Imagine stepping off the platform and discovering a giant, serene Kannon statue perched on a hillside, watching over the city like a guardian of peace.

It’s unexpected, impressive, and a little magical, especially when you realize she’s been there since 1960, built as a symbol of hope after the war. Ōfuna isn’t flashy, but that’s its charm: it’s real, local, and full of surprises.

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If you’re looking for a winter destination that feels like stepping into a living postcard, Kenrokuen Garden in Kanazawa, Ishikawa Prefecture, is a must-see. Known as one of Japan’s Three Great Gardens, Kenrokuen is a masterpiece of landscape design, blending elegance and harmony in every detail. Visiting in winter adds a special layer of beauty that few travelers experience.

One of the most iconic sights in Kenrokuen during winter is the yukitsuri, the graceful bamboo supports that protect the garden’s pine trees from heavy snow. These conical structures, radiating from the tree trunks like delicate spokes, are both practical and poetic. They prevent branches from breaking under the weight of snow, but they also create a stunning visual symbol of Japanese ingenuity and seasonal care. Seeing these supports against a backdrop of snow feels like witnessing a centuries-old tradition come alive.

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When I lived in Kita-Kamakura, one of my favorite weekend escapes was hitting the trails that wind through the hills and temples of Kamakura. There’s something special about trail running here, the crunch of leaves underfoot, the sudden hush as you enter a cedar grove, and the occasional glimpse of a temple roof peeking through the trees.

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When I lived in Kiyosumi-Shirakawa, weekends often began with a slow walk through quiet streets, a coffee in hand, and a sense of curiosity about what the day might bring. This neighborhood in Koto-ku, tucked away in Tokyo’s east side, became my little sanctuary, a place where the past and present seemed to hold hands.

If you’re looking to escape the hordes of tourists in Ginza and you’re looking for a shitamachi experience where old and new Japan sit side-by-side, this is a place you need to explore.

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