Koh’s Tokyo Dialogue

Spring in Tokyo. Look up, and you might notice something unusual—giant fish-shaped windsocks swimming through the sky. In the photo, taken at the foot of Tokyo Tower , colorful fish flutter together in the wind, as if they were alive. Why are there fish in the sky? What exactly are they? They are called koinobori —carp(koi) streamers displayed in Japan on May 5th. This day is known as Children’s Day, a national holiday today. Originally, however, it comes from an older seasonal festival called Tango no Sekku , introduced from China.  It was once associated with warding off evil, but in Japan it gradually became a day to celebrate children—especially boys—and to wish for their growth and future success. “Suidobashi and Surugadai,” from  One Hundred Famous Views of Edo  (1857), by  Utagawa Hiroshige , depicting koinobori flying in the sky Why Carp? — From Legend to Living Art But why carp? The answer lies in an old Chinese legend. In a story known as the “carp c...

Let’s begin with a cold, hard geographical fact: there are no real “mountains” in central Tokyo. This area spreads across lowlands extending from Tokyo Bay, gradually rising toward the western uplands. While skyscrapers dominate the skyline, there are no mountain ranges here in the geological sense. That said, it wouldn’t be entirely accurate to say that Tokyo has no mountains. If we broaden our view to the Tokyo Metropolis as a whole, the picture changes completely. For example, Mount Kumotori (2,017 m) is the highest peak in Tokyo, located on the border with Yamanashi Prefecture in a truly mountainous region. Meanwhile, Mount Takao (599 m), in Hachioji, has long been known as a site of Buddhist and ascetic training. Thanks to its easy access from central Tokyo, it is now one of the most visited hiking destinations in the world. —But those are not the mountains we’re looking for today. Our focus is strictly on “mountains” in central Tokyo. What we’re about to explore ar...

In my previous column, I introduced wisteria (fuji) and briefly touched on hanafuda , the traditional Japanese card game that represents each month with seasonal imagery. This time, I’d like to return to hanafuda once again. The Next Star After Cherry Blossoms — Fuji (Wisteria) in April The deck, which took its current form in the 19th century during the Edo period , beautifully captures the changing seasons. But if you look closely, you may notice a subtle “mismatch” between the flowers depicted on the cards and the seasons as we experience them today. This time, we’ll focus on the peony (botan), now in full bloom, and explore this curious discrepancy. Wisteria in April, Peonies That Come “Too Early” In hanafuda, peonies appear as the card for June. They are depicted together with butterflies—an established motif known as “peony and butterfly.” This pairing originated in Chinese art, where it symbolized beauty, prosperity, and elegance, and was later adopted and widely apprec...

In my February and March columns, I explored Japan’s seasonal flower culture through plum blossoms and cherry blossoms. And along the way, I realized something. It connects to a traditional Japanese card game I introduced before: Hanafuda . What is Hanafuda?　A Unique Japanese Souvenir for Nintendo Fans Unlike Western playing cards, Hanafuda has no numbers. Each month is represented purely through imagery, creating a visually rich and uniquely Japanese game. In this system, February is symbolized by plum blossoms, and March by cherry blossoms. So naturally, we shouldn’t stop there. April has its own flower as well. Fuji—wisteria. April features fuji (wisteria) paired with a cuckoo—a classic combination   When the cherry blossoms fall, many people feel a quiet sense of loss. But that moment is not an ending—it’s a transition. In late April, a new presence quietly takes over the city. Long clusters of purple flowers begin to cascade down from above, forming what can only...

  After the Peak at Chidorigafuchi As Tokyo’s cherry blossom season draws to a close, I visited one of the city’s most iconic spots on April 8: Chidorigafuchi. I had missed the peak bloom, but some blossoms still clung to the branches. Petals drifted through the air like snow—a scene known in Japanese as sakura fubuki , or “cherry blossom snowstorm.” It was a quiet reminder that the season had come to an end in Tokyo. A little sad, yet undeniably beautiful. That said, I wasn’t there just to take in the afterglow. This year’s sakura season came with a piece of news that caught my attention. A cherry tree at this famous spot had collapsed. 本日（４月２日）明け方、千鳥ヶ淵緑道脇にあるさくら（ソメイヨシノ）１本が倒木し、緑道の一部を閉鎖させていただいております。 皆様にはご不便をおかけしますが、緑道などの安全管理を徹底してまいりますので、安心してお花見をお楽しみください。… pic.twitter.com/gYynFD34Mp — 千代田区 (@chiyoda_city) April 2, 2026 It reportedly fell in the early morning of April 2, right around peak bloom. Strong winds and rain the night before are believed to have been the direct cause. Fo...