A spring voyage around Japan provides not only prime flower viewing but also the opportunity to experience some of the country’s less-visited coastal communities.

Overlooking the city of Hakodate from the observatory on its namesake mountain. — A view of Hakodate city from the observatory on its namesake mountain. (Photo: Daniel Beauchamp/Unsplash)

Late March ushers in the beginning of the sakura zensen, or cherry-blossom front, on Japan’s main islands. A vivid seasonal phenomenon tracked by flower junkies with the kind of manic precision normally reserved for typhoons, this wave of blossoms—surely, one of nature’s most magnificent spectacles—gradually sweeps northward across the archipelago, reaching Hokkaido by the end of April.

This is one of the best times to visit Japan, not least because it offers the chance to partake in the ancient Japanese tradition of hanami, or cherry-blossom viewing. However, the prospect of joining the well-documented tourist hordes that descend on the country in spring is daunting on every metric. Which is why I boarded the all-suite Seabourn Quest this past March for a leisurely 14-night cruise along the coasts of Honshu and Hokkaido, relishing the prospect of tracking the blooms by sea from the comfort of a floating boutique hotel. The voyage would avoid the Japan of megacities and neon signs, providing instead a wind-swept coastal perspective that comparatively few foreign visitors experience. The historical resonance wasn’t lost on me, either. As an island nation, Japan has always defined itself in relation to the sea, with its first contacts with outside civilizations arriving via these same littoral approaches we were traversing.

The Quest’s itinerary roughly paralleled the advance of the cherry blossoms along the Japanese coast. Standing at the bow, a fellow passenger observed, “I can’t think of a better way to chase the spring.” She swept a bejeweled hand toward the delicate pink clouds visible along the shoreline as our ship—an elegant vessel carrying just 347 guests and 357 crew—slipped its moorings at Yokohama’s Shinko Pier and headed west toward our first port, Hiroshima.

There, the Peace Memorial Park presented a poignant start to the voyage. The site’s most haunting feature is the ruins of a domed exhibition hall that was the only structure left standing in the area where the atomic bomb exploded on August 6, 1945. Cherry trees in full bloom incongruously framed its post-apocalyptic skeleton.

At the island of Miyajima the following day, we climbed hillside paths where vast sakura groves created what looked like a floating bank of pink fog hovering above ancient wooden shrines. The iconic torii gate of Itsukushima Shrine, its cinnabar-red frame seemingly suspended between sea and sky during high tide, stood in stark contrast to the bustling shopping lanes where centuries-old machiya townhouses have found new life as boutiques selling local specialties like momiji manju (maple leaf-shaped cakes) and handmade wooden rice scoops traditional to the island.

*Left to right:* Cherry blossoms; a five-tiered pagoda on Miyajima island in Hiroshima Bay. (Photos: iStock/Gyro, iStock/Cheng Feng Chiang)

One of the Veranda Suites aboard the Seabourn Quest. — One of the Veranda Suites aboard the *Seabourn Quest*. (Photo: Michel Verdure/Seabourn)

Any worries about boredom during the cruise’s three separate sea days were quickly dispelled. Between ports, the Seabourn Quest offered a program of surprising intellectual depth, effortlessly morphing into a floating college with a packed schedule. There were daily lectures by guest academics and retired diplomats covering everything from Shintoism to the nuclear politics of the Korean Peninsula. All this cerebral stimulation seamlessly dovetailed with the ship’s more sybaritic diversions: sunrise stretch classes in the exercise studio, afternoon bridge sessions, a carefree flutter in the casino, and light jazz at cocktail hour.

Our itinerary’s sole international port, Busan in South Korea, provided a vivid contrast to Japan. The sprawling Jagalchi Fish Market hummed with an energy distinct from Japanese commerce—louder, more energetic, and wonderfully chaotic. Embracing the local dining tradition, we wandered white aisles lined with glistening sea creatures in ice trays and water troughs, pointing out whatever caught our eye: plump octopus, iridescent mackerel, crimson-shelled crabs. Then, we carried our selections to the family-run kitchens upstairs, where they were briskly transformed into platters of raw, grilled, and steamed delicacies with minimal intervention and maximum flavor.

As we sailed away from Busan and back toward the sakura, I found myself appreciating the ship’s effortless border crossing. There were no frustrating passport lines or dreary luggage carousels, just the gentle transition from Korean to Japanese waters during the night. Even better, many of our next destinations represented an authentic Japan that typically remains off-menu to all but the most determined foreign visitors, stubbornly obscured behind a maze of local transport connections and language barriers that the Seabourn Quest serenely bypassed.

Take Sakaiminato, a sleepy fishing port on the north coast of western Honshu. Perhaps best known as the hometown of the legendary manga artist Shigeru Mizuki, it offered a sobering glimpse of Japan’s demographic challenges, not least the relentless exodus of young people to the brighter lights of Tokyo, Osaka, Kyoto, and Yokohama. Yet, despite persistent economic headwinds marked by blocks of shuttered businesses and deserted streets, the town maintained a quiet, graceful dignity, much like Mizuki’s supernatural yokai creatures immortalized in bronze statues along the main shopping street. A tiny sushi joint near the harbor, empty save for my partner and me, offered fish of such sparkling freshness that it made Kyoto’s famous restaurants seem overwrought by comparison.

“The Japanese government is paying people to move here,” explained our guide in Sakata, another port farther north. “They even recruit workers from Southeast Asia to help maintain the towns and work the fishing fleets.”

This pattern was repeated across the northern ports we docked at—Tsuruga, Takaoka, Hakodate—each revealing spotless streets and perfectly preserved shrines for the benefit of an increasingly shrinking population. What struck me wasn’t decline, but rather the unwavering upkeep in the face of existential challenge—a reflection, I thought, of the distinctly Japanese concept of gaman: to endure the seemingly unbearable with perseverance and quiet dignity.

*Left to right:* Cherry blossoms frame the skeletal ruins of the former Industrial Promotion Hall at Hiroshima’s Peace Memorial Park; steamed Hokkaido crabs for sale at a fish market in Kushiro. (Photos: Daven Wu)

Our northward progress also meant temporarily outrunning the cherry blossoms. In Hakodate on Hokkaido, a late winter still held its grip, with snow-streaked mountains looming beyond the harbor and cherry trees showing only the earliest hints of budding. As with other ports we’d visited, the morning market here bustled with vendors selling dried kelp, sea urchin, and enormous scallops—a bounty that would command astronomical prices in Tokyo, but here seemed almost casually abundant.

As the morning mist lifted over Kushiro, our northernmost port of call, fishing boats unloaded their catches at dockside stalls. Some passengers headed off by coach to look for rare red-crowned cranes in Japan’s largest marshlands. We spent our time ashore wandering the port’s quieter streets, where we stumbled on a workshop where an elderly craftsman carved hanko (personal seals) from stone and wood, each one a miniature work of art.

And so, the fortnight passed. Each day brought a different shoreline to explore, while familiar faces on the Quest—the bartender who remembered my preferred cocktail; the cabin stewards who carefully placed chocolate nibbles on our pillows at turndown—created a sense of home between excursions.

I thought of my previous trips to Japan—the elaborate train itineraries, time-consuming hotel hopping, and the inevitable stress of language barriers in remote regions—and appreciated how this far gentler maritime approach had delivered me to ports I’d never have included on a land journey.

Eventually, the ship began turning southward for our return toward Yokohama. We encountered cherry blossoms again, but this time in even smaller coastal communities where, far from the selfie stick–wielding crowds that throng Japan’s more famous viewing spots, we had entire groves almost to ourselves.

As Yokohama’s skyline emerged once more on the horizon, I realized the cherry blossoms had provided more than just scenic beauty on this cruise. They had been a guide to Japan’s coastal character, revealing fishing traditions, port histories, and the quiet dignity with which rural communities face demographic challenges.

The Japanese have an expression: mono no aware, which roughly translates to “the beauty of transience.” I had come chasing fleeting blossoms but discovered, instead, a Japan I hadn’t known existed, hidden all along in plain sight. One whose heart beats not in neon-lit megacities, but in the tidewashed, floral rhythms of its coastal towns.

Seabourn’s 14-day Japan’s Crafts & Cherry Blossoms cruises will return in March and April 2026 with an updated itinerary and ship—the Seabourn Encore. Sailings from US$12,499 per person, based on double occupancy; seabourn.com.

The 229-suite Seabourn Quest. — The 229-suite *Seabourn Quest*. (Photo: Michel Verdure/Seabourn)

This article originally appeared in the August/September 2025 print issue of DestinAsian magazine (“Chasing Cherry Blossoms”). Buy a single issue or subscribe here.

Discover Japan’s Unseen Shores on this Unique Seasonal Cruise

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