I travelled to Tokyo to experience the custom of hanami—viewing this country's famous cherry blossoms, which the Japanese call sakura.

I’m very fortunate that my arrival has coincided with the very first cherry blossoms opening in the city's botanical gardens, Shinjuku Gyoen.

Not every Japanese citizen, let alone visitor, will be lucky enough to admire their fleeting beauty.

What is hanami?

Rather like reading and smoking, hanami started out as a way for rich people to while away their ample spare time and money.

But over the past millennia or so, it has thankfully been democratised, and now almost anyone can enjoy it.

At its heart, hanami involves the nation of Japan collectively stopping to appreciate the beauty of something temporary.

It asks people to be more attentive to their immediate surroundings, accept impermanence, and be present in the moment.

Golden Week and attending hanami in Japan

I’ve battled jet lag and spent a sleepless night at a generic airport hotel.

When morning comes, I'm glad to be able to properly start my visit.

Entering the Tokyo city rail network at its most southerly point, I purchase a “day‑rail pass” and get on the first train leaving the terminus.

Looking around, I judge that my fellow passengers are an equal mix of excited tourists and drained locals commuting to work.

Although Japan has a Golden Week of national holidays clustered around the end of the spring sakura season, not all Japanese people earn high enough salaries to be able to enjoy them, and not all salaried positions grant suitable leave.

Japan has a famously guarded, perhaps even resentful attitude towards tourists.

And I can see why, when so many citizens are denied the opportunity to partake in their own cultural customs that are being appropriated by visitors like me.

Digital hanami

As I look closer, I can see that some Japanese are partaking in hanami in an online, asynchronous fashion—via clips on social media, and so forth.

For some unfortunate shift workers and salarymen (the portion of Japan's white-collar employees who quite literally live to work), this digital, disaggregated format may be their only true engagement with the annual sakura.

Having made it to the city centre, I get stuck in a turnstile while switching trains and have to approach a station attendant in his little underground hut.

Given his expression, I may have accidentally handed him some sort of puzzling ancient artefact instead of my ticket.

He disappears with my ticket and returns moments later with a senior colleague and an enormous tome.

The pair wade their way through what must be a ticket codex of some kind and inform me, very helpfully, that my ticket isn't valid for my desired train.

This is where I learn that Tokyo has three major, geographically overlapping short‑distance rail services, and that my “day rail pass” does not qualify me for passage on any of them.

I didn't think to look this up before travelling.

I regroup over a hot bowl of soba noodles and purchase the correct ticket before moving to the botanical gardens.

Shinjuku Gyoen during hanami

As I approach the cherry blossoms, I see hundreds of people gathered beneath them.

Initially, I am dismayed to see that they are not reflecting or remaining present in the moment, but rather having a competition to see who can take a selfie with the most people in the background.

After cursing technology a little, I realise that these are the people facilitating online hanami for those scrolling commuters I saw on the train.

But even in the heavily curated environment of the Shinjuku Gyoen, so much is left to chance.

The cherry blossoms bloom in full for only a day or two before they drop.

This may not align with a weekend or public holiday, and even if it does, the blossoms' demise can be expedited by a strong gust or a sharp rainfall.

Reflecting on my luck, I get the urge to experience hanami in ways less dependent on chance.

Cherry blossom art exhibits

Acting on my urge, I head over to the 8th floor of the Ginza Mitsukoshi building to visit the art aquarium there.

The exhibit consists of thousands of goldfish displayed in ornate glass tanks, moodily lit by artificial lights, and adorned with seasonal artwork and decorations.

Naturally, the goldfish are currently paired with blossoms, and the exhibit unites the concepts of ordered nature and hanami with modern urban Tokyo.

It offers anyone who has the time an opportunity to participate in this national period of attentiveness and reflection.

Some may think goldfish a little out of place in spring with sakura. Traditionally (and this is a traditional place) they’re associated with summer and festivals and games, such as kingyo sukui, where players scoop goldfish until their scoopers break.

But it doesn’t take a great leap of the imagination or undue artistic licence to see why goldfish and sakura pair perfectly when observing hanami.

Just like sakura, goldfish have a short lifespan.

Their striking appearance might also represent fleeting visual beauty and cultural nostalgia.

I’ve heard goldfish likened to bonsai, and I like the comparison.

Both were originally imported from China, both involve humans shaping nature over long durations using repetition and paying attention to minuscule changes.

And neither is practical.

Bonsai yield no fruit, and goldfish yield no meat.

They are both maintained solely for their beauty, which is the very epitome of hanami.