After spending time in the lively streets of Osaka, I decided to take a break from the crowds and travel to Minoh, a peaceful town surrounded by forested hills just outside the city. Compared to the vibrant streets of Namba and Dotonbori, it felt like another world. My pace slowed, the air became fresher, and the city noise gradually faded away, replaced by the rustling of leaves in the wind and the tranquility of nature.
After I get off from the train, I arrived at this small town in the north of Osaka. What I particularly enjoyed about Minoh was its tranquility. Compared with Osaka’s famous tourist attractions, Minoh receives far fewer international travelers, and even the popular walking trail can feel surprisingly peaceful. There were moments when I could simply walk along the forest path without being surrounded by tour groups or crowds, but only the swaying shadows of the trees and the rustling sound of foot accompanying me.
The journey to Minoh was not about checking off famous landmarks. Instead, it was about enjoying the simple experience of walking through the forest, listening to the flowing water, watching the leaves move gently in the breeze, and taking my time to appreciate the scenery. Sometimes, the most memorable places on a journey are not the ones filled with people, but the quiet ones where I can slow down and truly feel my surroundings.
By December, I had already missed the best time to see Minoh’s famous maple leaves. The brilliant reds and oranges of autumn had largely disappeared from the trees, leaving only memories of the season that had just passed. The ground was covered with a thick carpet of fallen leaves, their faded reds, oranges and browns scattered across the forest path.
The December morning was a little cold. I could feel the crispness of winter in the air, but the sunlight was warm. Golden rays filtered through the remaining green leaves above me, falling softly onto the path and warmed my face. Looking down at the leaves beneath my feet, I felt that each step made a soft, gentle sound, as if the forest was quietly accompanying my walk. Without the crowds of the autumn season, I could walk slowly and listen to the water, the rustling leaves and the occasional sound of birds.
As I walked through Minoh Park, I passed several old temples that were quiet and almost empty, with very few tourists around. The peaceful surroundings made the journey feel unbothered and unhurried. Being able to walk alone through the temples and forest gave me a sense of solitude and allowed me to fully appreciate the beauty of nature.
Hidden deep within the forest, the ancient temple seems to belong to an isolated world. The weathered wooden beams, etched by time, stood silently beneath the pale winter sky. Moss-covered stones were scattered throughout the woods, quietly disappearing into the dense undergrowth. A thin mist swirled among the treetops and blurred the boundary between heaven and earth, immersing the entire forest in a tranquil and mysterious atmosphere.
I walked all through the main walking route follows the Minoh River through the forest. The path was gentle and enjoyable, making it possible to appreciate the scenery without the feeling of a difficult mountain hike. Along the way, the sound of running water accompanied the walk, while tall trees created a cool and refreshing canopy overhead.
Along the forest trail in Minoh Park, there is a remarkable giant rock known as Himeiwa. Unlike an ordinary boulder, Himeiwa looks as though it has been dramatically cut in half by a giant blade. A narrow passage runs between the two enormous pieces of rock, just wide enough for a person to squeeze through. There is also a charming local belief associated with Himeiwa. Passing through the narrow opening is traditionally said to bring the blessing of children, giving the rock a spiritual meaning beyond its unusual appearance.
One of the highlights of Minoh Park is Minoh Waterfall, a beautiful 33-metre cascade at the end of the trail. The waterfall is especially impressive after walking quietly through the forest for some time. It is not an enormous waterfall, but its setting makes it particularly beautiful. Surrounded by tall trees and steep forested slopes, the falling water was perfectly integrated into the landscape rather than standing apart from it. I stood there for a while, listening to the continuous sound of water falling over the rocks. The walk through the forest made the waterfall feel like a natural reward at the end of the trail.
After spending some time at Minoh Waterfall, I continued my journey toward Katsuoji Temple, one of the most famous temples in the Minoh area. Instead of returning along the same forest trail, I climbed up from the steps of waterfall toward the main road. The change in scenery was gradual. The narrow forest path gave way to a wider mountain road lined with tall trees. The road gradually led me deeper into the mountains toward Katsuoji. Although the walk was uphill in places, I enjoyed taking my time and appreciating the changing landscape.
Eventually, I arrived at the Sanmon of Katsuoji Temple, famous for its thousands of Daruma dolls and its long history of being associated with victory and good fortune. Surrounded by dense forest and carefully landscaped gardens, the temple felt peaceful and secluded, despite being one of the best-known places to visit in the Minoh area.
Ponds, bridges, stone paths and carefully maintained gardens blend naturally with the forested mountains. In December, the atmosphere was particularly peaceful. Many of the maple leaves had already fallen, covering the ground with a layer of autumn color. According to temple tradition, the temple was founded in 727 by two brothers, Zenchū and Zensan, who built a small hermitage in the mountains. The temple’s connection with victory also has an interesting origin. During the reign of Emperor Seiwa, the emperor was seriously ill, and prayers were offered at the temple for his recovery. According to tradition, the emperor eventually recovered, and the temple’s spiritual power became associated with victory and overcoming difficulties.
What immediately caught my attention was the extraordinary number of Daruma dolls throughout the temple grounds. These traditional Japanese dolls are symbols of determination and perseverance. Their round bodies and striking faces can be seen sitting on steps, beside pathways, on shelves and among the gardens. Some are large and impressive, while others are tiny enough to fit in the palm of a hand. Walking through the temple grounds felt almost like entering a world of Daruma. Instead of seeing just a few traditional ornaments, I encountered them everywhere I looked. Their presence gave the temple a playful character that contrasted beautifully with its quiet mountain setting.
The Daruma has large eyes, thick eyebrows and moustache which are traditionally associated with Bodhidharma (Daruma). At Katsuoji Temple, it has a special connection with the temple’s reputation for victory and success. Visitors often buy Daruma when praying for success in an examination, or a competition. What makes Katsuoji particularly fascinating is the sheer number of Daruma scattered throughout the temple grounds. Visitors offered Daruma in designated areas, so the dolls gradually accumulate across the gardens, steps and temple buildings. This creates a very distinctive scene: hundreds or even thousands of red Daruma seemingly watching over the temple from every corner. It is one of the things that makes Katsuoji unlike most other traditional temples in Japan.
One of the other things that caught my attention at Katsuoji was the vivid red colour of its traditional architecture. Against the deep green of the surrounding mountains, the vermilion buildings, gates and bridges stood out with remarkable intensity, creating a scene that felt both elegant and almost dreamlike. I particularly enjoyed the way Katsuoji combines architecture with nature. The buildings are not isolated monuments surrounded by concrete; they are woven into the mountains, gardens, ponds and forests.
Among the rocks and greenery, I noticed a miniature vermilion shrine surrounded by red railings. A series of bright red traditional torii gates led toward it, creating a striking contrast with the natural landscape. This was Benzaiten Shrine, dedicated to Benzaiten, a deity associated with water, wisdom, music and the arts. I have found many similar things in the garden. Torii are traditionally associated with Shinto shrines, while Katsuoji itself is a Buddhist temple. Historically, however, Buddhism and Shinto were deeply intertwined in Japan for centuries. Before the Meiji period, it was common for Buddhist temples to contain Shinto shrines and for Buddhist and Shinto practices to coexist.
Benzaiten has a fascinating origin. She developed in Japan from Saraswati, an ancient Indian goddess associated with water, knowledge, music and the arts. When Buddhism spread to Japan, this deity was incorporated into Japanese religious traditions and gradually took on additional associations. She is worshipped in many different forms across Japan. Some places have grown into large religious complexes devoted to her, while other, like this little shrine at Katsuoji, was simply a small sacred corner within a much larger temple.
As I walked through Katsuoji, I came across a remarkable display of sake barrels stacked in rows along the hillside. Each barrel carried different Japanese characters, names and colorful logos, representing different sake breweries and producers. These were not simply decorations; sake has long played an important role as a religious offering in Japan, and breweries often donate sake to temples and shrines. The scene was particularly striking at Katsuoji. Hundreds of barrels formed a wall of white, black and red, while the elegant vermilion pagoda rose above them among the trees. This creates a scene with a distinctly Japanese character.
The pagoda called Tahōtō originated in ancient India as the stupa, a structure associated with the Buddha and used to preserve sacred relics. As Buddhism spread through Asia, the stupa gradually evolved into different architectural forms. Japanese pagodas are usually built with three or five storeys, with the five-storey pagoda being particularly iconic. The number five has Buddhist and cosmological significance, traditionally representing the five elements: earth, water, fire, wind and space.
During my trip, I noticed a series of unusual stone towers standing beside the old pilgrimage route. These were Gorintō, not simply memorial stones but Chōishi, distance markers for pilgrims and it shew directions for the pilgrims. The oldest surviving ones date back to 1247, to the Kamakura period. Standing beside them with hundred years history, I imagined the pilgrims who had walked this same route more than seven hundred years ago. They would have passed these stones one by one like me. The stones therefore felt like more than historical objects. They were silent witnesses to generations of journeys, prayers and footsteps.
In this temple, I have seen many ancient-looking Buddhist monuments. A weathered stone pagoda rose on one side, while a tall inscription pillar stood like a silent marker beside the path. The large structure on the left is a stone pagoda, built in the traditional Buddhist architectural form. It has multiple levels with projecting roofs, giving it the appearance of a miniature stone version of pagoda. It is quite different from the Tahōtō behind it. The large stone pillar is an inscription monument with the Japanese name of the mountain Ocho-san (応頂山) and the Japanese name of the temple Katsuō-ji(勝尾寺). Japanese character is similar to the Chinese character even I don’t know any Japanese but I could still recognize them. This sense of familiarity that transcends language and culture makes my travels particularly enjoyable.
The Hondō(main hall) of Katsuō-ji is a traditional wooden Buddhist main hall characterized by its broad tiled roof, deep eaves, and simple wooden structure. The structure is mainly natural wood, with dark brown and muted tones that blend into the mountain setting. Many people visit the Hondō to pray for success, good fortune, and the fulfillment of their wishes. Standing in front of it, I could feel a solemn and peaceful atmosphere.
In winter, Katsuō-ji offers a peaceful panoramic view of the surrounding mountains and forests. The bare trees and evergreen foliage create a quiet, subdued landscape immersed in the clouds, giving the scenery a calm and misty appearance. From the elevated temple grounds, I could appreciate the beauty and tranquility of the winter mountains.
After leaving Katsuō-ji, I stopped at a small local restaurant and had unadon for lunch. The dish consisted of tender grilled eel served on a bowl of warm, fluffy rice and covered with a rich, sweet and savory sauce. The plating of the Japanese food was beautifully arranged and visually appealing. It looked simple, but I could feel the chef’s attention to details. The ingredients were carefully placed in the dish, creating a balanced combination of colors, textures, and shapes. The eel had a slightly smoky flavor from the grilling, while the sauce added a delicious balance of sweetness and saltiness. The simple presentation and cozy atmosphere of the small restaurant made the meal feel especially authentic and comforting after visiting the temple.
By the time I returned to Osaka, I felt refreshed by my brief escape to Minoh. Although it was only a short journey, the quiet forests, mountains, hidden temples, and crisp winter air created a peaceful distance from the bustle of the city. Walking alone through the tranquil landscape, pausing at old temples, enjoying the scenery and a simple Japanese meal, I found myself slowing down and appreciating the moment. Minoh reminded me that a journey does not have to be long to be meaningful; sometimes, a few hours surrounded by nature are enough to relax, clear the mind, and continue my jourmey with a renewed sense of calm.
In December 2025, I embarked on my very first journey to Japan. For years, I had dreamed of exploring a country where ancient traditions coexist with cutting-edge modernity, and the Kansai region was the destination I chose to begin that dream. As the largest city in western Japan and the gateway to the Kansai region, Osaka was the perfect introduction to the country and was the perfect place to experience my first glimpse of Japan. when I arrived, the city welcomed me with its vibrant energy, dazzling streets, and warm, down-to-earth atmosphere.
On 19 December 2025, I arrived at Osaka’s Kansai International Airport, the gateway to my first journey in Japan. Even before stepping outside the terminal, the airport itself left a lasting impression. Built entirely on a man-made island in the heart of Osaka Bay, it appears to rise gracefully from the sea, surrounded by water in every direction. As the aircraft began its descent, I gazed out of the window and watched the long, slender runway emerge from the shimmering bay, linked to the mainland by a bridge that seemed to stretch endlessly across the water.
Stepping out of the airport, I was filled with a quiet sense of excitement and anticipation. For my stay in Osaka, I chose a hotel within walking distance of Dotonbori, the city’s most iconic entertainment and shopping district. Staying in the heart of the city meant that everything was only a short stroll away from lively shopping arcades and elegant department stores to countless restaurants serving Osaka’s celebrated local specialties.
The canal that winds through the district was first excavated in the early Edo period, and over the centuries it has grown into one of Osaka’s most recognizable landmarks. Today, people from every corner of the world gather along its lively waterfront, soaking in the city’s infectious energy and colorful street life. Standing beside the historic canal on my very first evening in Japan, I felt that there could hardly have been a better place to begin my journey.
No visit to Osaka would be complete without tasting takoyaki, the city’s most iconic street food and a dish that perfectly captures its lively culinary culture. As I wandered through the bustling streets of Dotonbori, the irresistible aroma of batter sizzling on hot iron griddles filled the air, drawing people towards the countless food stalls lining the streets. Freshly prepared before my eyes, the takoyaki emerged as perfectly round, golden-brown balls with a crisp, lightly toasted exterior. Each one was filled with tender pieces of octopus, finely chopped green onions and crunchy tempura flakes, then generously topped with savory takoyaki sauce, creamy Japanese mayonnaise, a sprinkle of seaweed powder, and delicate bonito flakes that danced in the rising heat. It looked really delicious.
From the very first bite, I understood why takoyaki has become synonymous with Osaka. I instantly fell in love with it. The crisp outer layer has a soft, creamy centre that was almost molten. The tender octopus added a satisfying chewiness, while the savory sauce and fragrant toppings brought every bite together in a perfect harmony.
One of the highlights of my journey was my visit to Osaka Castle Park, a vast green oasis surrounding one of Japan’s most celebrated landmarks. In the heart of the bustling city, the park offered a welcome sense of tranquility. Although it was winter, the park possessed a quiet charm of its own. The crisp air, the stillness of the grounds, and the gentle rustle of bare branches invited me to slow my pace and savor the moment. As I approached the castle, the magnificent white-and-green keep gradually emerged above the treetops. Framed by the surrounding greenery and rising proudly above its massive stone foundations, it was an unforgettable sight.
The exterior of Osaka Castle is both elegant and majestic, making it one of Japan’s most recognizable landmarks. Rising above its immense stone foundations, the castle’s brilliant white walls stand in striking contrast to its emerald-green roofs, which are adorned with shimmering gold decorations that gleam in the sunlight. Perched at the corners of the rooftops are magnificent gilded shachihoko (mythical creatures with the head of a tiger and the body of a carp). According to Japanese tradition, these legendary guardians possess the power to summon water and protect buildings from fire.
Beyond its beauty, Osaka Castle occupies a central place in Japanese history. It was originally built in 1583 by the powerful warlord Toyotomi Hideyoshi, who sought to unify Japan after more than a century of civil war during the Sengoku Period (1467–1615). Designed as the political and military headquarters of the Toyotomi clan, the castle became one of the largest and most formidable fortresses in the country. Its massive stone walls, broad moats, and strategic location reflected Hideyoshi’s ambition to establish a unified Japan under his rule. Although the present castle is a modern reconstruction completed in 1931 and later restored, it faithfully preserves the appearance of Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s original masterpiece.
The castle now becomes a museum displaying the model of this castle and the history of that period and narrating the ebb and flow of that period. I like to play games like Nobunaga’s Ambition and familiar with the history of Sengoku Period so I really enjoyed the immersive travel experience here as if I visited that period by myself. The castle also witnessed the dramatic conclusion of the Sengoku era. Following Hideyoshi’s death, tensions between the Toyotomi clan and Tokugawa Ieyasu escalated into the Siege of Osaka in 1614 and 1615. Standing on this castle, I could observe clearly the outline of the whole war field around this castle. I imagined the decisive battle determining Japan’s fate, once took place fiercely here.
Following the death of Toyotomi Hideyoshi, his young son and heir, Toyotomi Hideyori, remained in Osaka Castle, while Tokugawa Ieyasu, victorious at the Battle of Sekigahara in 1600, had already emerged as the most powerful political figure in Japan. Although the Toyotomi clan still possessed immense wealth and the formidable defences of Osaka Castle, Ieyasu regarded them as the final obstacle to bringing the entire country under Tokugawa rule. This rivalry would ultimately culminate in the Siege of Osaka, one of the most decisive conflicts in Japanese history, marking the end of the Toyotomi clan and the beginning of more than two and a half centuries of Tokugawa shogunate rule.
Today, the castle serves not only as one of Osaka’s most famous landmarks but also as a fascinating museum that brings this dramatic chapter of history to life. As I explored its galleries, I found detailed exhibits dedicated to Hideyori’s loyal generals, their armour and weapons, and the distinctive battle standards that once identified their armies on the battlefield.
In the winter of 1614, Tokugawa Ieyasu personally led a vast army to lay siege to Osaka Castle. Rather than relying solely on brute force, he combined overwhelming military strength with calculated strategy to break down the defenders’ resistance. The Winter Campaign ended in a negotiated truce, but the agreement came at a heavy cost for the defenders. Under its terms, the Tokugawa forces dismantled much of the castle’s outer fortifications and filled in large sections of its protective moats, leaving what had once been an impregnable fortress dangerously exposed.
When hostilities resumed during the Summer Campaign of 1615, the balance of power had shifted decisively. Tokugawa’s forces launched a final offensive that overwhelmed the Toyotomi defenders. Osaka Castle fell, and Toyotomi Hideyori died within the castle, bringing the Toyotomi lineage to an end. With that victory, Tokugawa Ieyasu secured control of Japan, ushering in more than 260 years of peace and stability under the Tokugawa shogunate.
The third floor of the castle museum vividly recounts these two historic campaigns. Through detailed battle maps, scale models, and illustrated displays, I could follow the movements of both armies and understand how the siege unfolded step by step. The historical maps depicted Osaka as it appeared more than four hundred years ago, yet many familiar place names have survived to the present day. Among them was Shitennō-ji, one of Japan’s oldest Buddhist temples. Seeing a name that still exists on a map from the early seventeenth century made history feel remarkably tangible.
Several renowned Tokugawa commanders played pivotal roles in the Siege of Osaka. Among them was Ii Naotaka, commander of the legendary “Red Devils” cavalry. Famed for the striking crimson armor worn by his warriors, he led his troops with distinction during the campaign and later became one of the Tokugawa shogunate’s most trusted daimyō. Another prominent figure was Honda Tadatomo, the son of the celebrated warrior Honda Tadakatsu, who was widely regarded as one of the greatest generals of his age. Tadatomo earned recognition for his courage and capable leadership on the battlefield, continuing the military legacy of his distinguished family.
Also fighting on the Tokugawa side was Date Masamune, the powerful lord of Sendai. Easily recognized in portraits by his distinctive crescent-moon helmet, Masamune contributed a substantial force to the Tokugawa coalition while maintaining his reputation as one of the most charismatic and influential daimyō of the era. Seeing these familiar names in the museum exhibits brought the history of the siege vividly to life, transforming what I had once known only from books into the stories of real people who chose their fate in the course of Japan’s history.
This is the portrait of Tokugawa Ieyasu who was the winner of this war. The victory at Osaka eliminated the final military challenge to Tokugawa authority. With the Toyotomi clan destroyed, Tokugawa Ieyasu secured the foundation of the Tokugawa Shogunate, which would govern Japan for more than 250 years. Walking through Osaka Castle today, it is remarkable to think that these peaceful grounds once witnessed the battle that ended the Age of Warring States and ushered in one of the longest periods of peace in Japanese history.
After exploring the castle museum, I made my way to the observation deck at the top of Osaka Castle. From there, a breathtaking panorama unfolded in every direction. The skyline stretched endlessly towards the horizon, where countless skyscrapers, office towers, apartment blocks, and commercial buildings formed a vast sea of steel and glass. The city seemed to pulse with life, its modern skyline standing in striking contrast to the centuries-old castle beneath my feet.
Looking out across the sprawling cityscape, I could truly appreciate how Osaka has evolved over the centuries. What was once a castle town of samurai residences, merchant quarters, and narrow streets has grown into one of Japan’s largest and most dynamic metropolitan centres, home to millions of people. Yet despite its remarkable transformation, Osaka Castle still stands proudly at the heart of the city, serving as a timeless reminder of the events that shaped its history.
Standing within Osaka Castle Park today, it was difficult to imagine that these peaceful grounds had once witnessed some of the most decisive battles in Japanese history. I also walked around the outer grounds of the castle, where its immense scale became even more apparent. The keep rises from an enormous stone foundation encircled by broad moats that once formed a formidable line of defence. Many of the granite blocks used to construct the massive walls are among the largest ever quarried, transported, and assembled in Japan.
Viewed from across the moat, the castle appeared especially magnificent. It seemed to emerge naturally from its colossal granite base, while its brilliant white walls and emerald-green roofs, adorned with gleaming gold ornaments, shone vividly beneath the pale winter sky. The calm water reflected the castle’s graceful silhouette, creating a scene of quiet beauty.
A short walk from Osaka Castle stands Hokoku Shrine, a peaceful Shinto shrine dedicated to Toyotomi Hideyoshi. In front of the shrine stands a striking bronze statue. He is portrayed in formal samurai attire, standing confidently with one hand resting on the hilt of his sword and the other holding a military command baton, symbolizing his authority as one of Japan’s greatest strategists and unifiers. Toyotomi Hideyoshi is a real legend in Japanese history. He rises from humble origins as the son of a peasant to become the most powerful man in Japan. Few figures in Japanese history experienced such a remarkable ascent and obtained such an achievement.
The shrine commemorates not only Toyotomi Hideyoshi, but also members of the Toyotomi family whose efforts contributed to the unification of Japan. Although the Toyotomi political legacy came to an end with the fall of Osaka Castle during the Siege of Osaka, Hideyoshi’s influence on the course of Japanese history remains profound. His military achievements brought an end to more than a century of civil war and laid the foundations for the peaceful Edo period that followed. As I stood before the shrine, I found myself reflecting on the fate of the Toyotomi clan.
In my view, Toyotomi Hideyori’s defeat was not simply the result of a single mistake made during the Siege of Osaka. Rather, its roots can be traced to decisions made years earlier by his father. Although Hideyoshi succeeded in unifying Japan, he did not establish a political system strong enough to endure after his own death. His heir, Hideyori, was still a child and lacked an effective institutional framework to protect his position. At the same time, Tokugawa Ieyasu remained the most powerful daimyō in the country, commanding unrivalled military resources and political influence. Hideyoshi’s costly invasions of Korea also placed a heavy burden on the nation and weakened support for the Toyotomi government. Finally, the stability of his regime depended largely on the personal loyalty of the Council of Five Elders rather than on enduring political institutions. Once Hideyoshi was gone, those personal bonds quickly unraveled, allowing Ieyasu to consolidate power.
History rarely turns on a single battle or a single decision. As I left the shrine, I felt that the fall of the Toyotomi clan was the culmination of choices made over many years. It’s a reminder that lasting political success depends not only on military brilliance, but also on building a mature institution capable of surviving the ambitions and lifetimes of individual leaders.
After leaving Osaka Castle Park, I made my way to Sankō Shrine, a quiet shrine best known for its association with the legendary samurai Sanada Yukimura, one of the most celebrated warriors of Japan’s Sengoku era. The shrine is dedicated to the Shinto deities Amaterasu, Tsukuyomi, and Susanoo. Yet for many visitors, its greatest attraction is the “Sanada’s Escape Tunnel.” According to local tradition, this mysterious underground passage once connected the Sanada Maru which is the fortified stronghold defended by Yukimura during the Siege of Osaka.
The shrine also features a bronze statue of Yukimura and is a popular destination for visitor like me who is interested in Japan’s Sengoku-era history. Born into the Sanada clan, Yukimura was the son of Sanada Masayuki, a skilled strategist. After the decisive Battle of Sekigahara in 1600, Yukimura was defeated for supporting the Western Army (Toyotomi clan) and were exiled to Kudoyama at the foot of Mount Koya, where they spent more than ten years in seclusion.
In 1614, the Siege of Osaka broke out. At the invitation of Toyotomi Hideyori, Sanada Yukimura left his exile and entered Osaka Castle, joining the Toyotomi army and shouldering the heavy responsibility of resisting Tokugawa Ieyasu. In the Siege of Osaka from 1614 to 1615, he led the defending troops in valiant fighting, becoming one of the most representative heroes of the Toyotomi clan’s last resistance against the Tokugawa Shogunate.
This photo was taken in the place near Yasui Shrine where Yukimura Sanada lost the final battle. He earned lasting fame through his brilliant leadership during the Siege of Osaka. He designed and defended the Sanada Maru, a fortified outwork that successfully repelled repeated Tokugawa attacks during the Winter Siege of 1614. During the Summer Siege in 1615, he led a bold and desperate cavalry charge that came close to reaching Tokugawa Ieyasu himself before being overwhelmed and killed in battle.
The portrait of Yukimura Sanada in the Osaka castle museum
I found his portrait in the Osaka castle museum. Although the Toyotomi forces supported by Yukimura were finally defeated, his courage, tactical skill, and unwavering loyalty turned him into a legendary figure. Often called “the greatest warrior in Japan”, he has been immortalized in literature like ‘The Sanada Gunki’, television dramas like ‘Sanada Maru’, video games like Nobunaga’s Ambition, and local legends, making him one of the most famous and admired samurai in Japanese history.
As I wandered through the suburban streets of Osaka, I discovered a quieter side of the city, where everyday life unfolded at an unhurried pace. A network of narrow lanes, often barely wide enough for a single car, wound between rows of modest three-storey houses standing shoulder to shoulder. Small balconies were decorated with potted plants, bicycles rested casually against walls, and neatly arranged entrances reflected the quiet routines of daily life.
Walking through them felt like catching a glimpse of the Osaka that local residents experience every day, far removed from the bright lights and bustling crowds of the city centre. Towering utility poles lined the streets, forming one of the most distinctive features of Japanese residential neighborhoods. Countless power lines stretched from pole to pole, hanging in gentle curves overhead and weaving an intricate pattern against the sky. At first, the dense web of cables seemed almost chaotic, but the longer I looked, the more it became part of the city’s unique visual identity.
As evening approached and I made my way back to my hotel, Nakanoshima revealed a strikingly different side of Osaka from the quiet residential neighborhoods I had explored earlier. Situated on a long island between the Dojima and Tosabori Rivers, Nakanoshima is one of the city’s principal business and cultural districts, where broad boulevards, graceful bridges, and sleek skyscrapers combine to create a sophisticated urban skyline. Towering glass office buildings rose above the waterfront, their façades reflecting the fading colors of the winter sky as daylight gradually gave way to evening. The rivers mirrored the city lights, while the silhouettes of bridges stretched elegantly across the water, lending the district a calm yet cosmopolitan atmosphere.
Unlike the narrow lanes of the suburbs, Nakanoshima offered wide, tree-lined promenades and spacious riverside parks that invited me to slow down and enjoy the scenery. I strolled along the riverbanks, watching office workers, joggers, and couples passing by as the city settled into the evening. Within a single day, I had experienced the city’s historic heart, its peaceful residential streets, and its modern financial centre. Each revealed a different character of Osaka.
At night, the Dōtonbori Canal became one of Osaka’s most vibrant and recognizable urban landscapes. The waterway was bordered by a continuous wall of illuminated buildings, where enormous LED billboards, animated signs, and colorful advertisements reflected across the gently rippling surface of the canal. Both banks of the canal are lined with wide pedestrian promenades crowded with locals and visitors. Restaurants, izakayas and cafés spilled light and laughter onto the waterfront, while the enticing aromas of grilled seafood, ramen and freshly made takoyaki drifted through the air.
I enjoyed dinner at a restaurant by the canal, savoring Japan’s famous Wagyu beef yakiniku. Wagyu is renowned for its fine and marbling, melt-in-mouth tenderness, and rich, full-bodied flavor. Unlike Western steaks, Wagyu yakiniku is typically not served in whole, but rather sliced into thin pieces or bite-sized chunks, which diners grill themselves slowly over charcoal at their tables.
As the beef sizzled on the charcoal, the fine fat gradually melted, giving the slices an enticing sheen and releasing a rich aroma. When the outer layer slightly caramelized and turned golden brown, the inside remained tender and juicy. The grilled Wagyu, served with garlic, onions, and other vegetables, and dipped in a flavorful Japanese yakiniku sauce, offered a multi-layered and unforgettable experience with every bite.
Sitting by the canal, admiring the city lights reflected on the water’s surface while enjoying the steaming Wagyu yakiniku, I found a perfect way to conclude one day’s trip. On a cold winter night, this warm and sumptuous dinner became one of my most unforgettable culinary experiences upon arriving in Japan.
I stayed in Osaka for two days and visited several cultural places on the second day. Sumiyoshi Taisha is one of Japan’s oldest and most revered Shinto shrines. Founded in the 3rd century, before the introduction of Buddhism to Japan, the shrine is dedicated to the Sumiyoshi Sanjin, three deities believed to protect travelers, sailors, fishermen, and all who journey by sea. Because Osaka developed as an important port city, Sumiyoshi Taisha became a spiritual guardian for merchants, seafarers, and imperial envoys. Today, it remains the head shrine of more than 2,000 Sumiyoshi shrines across Japan.
The shrine is internationally renowned for its distinctive Sumiyoshi-zukuri architectural style, one of the oldest surviving forms of Japanese shrine architecture. Unlike many later shrines that incorporated Chinese and Buddhist influences, Sumiyoshi-zukuri preserves a purely indigenous and simple Japanese design. The four main sanctuary buildings stand in a straight line at the central axis, with elevated wooden floors, straight gabled roofs covered in cypress bark, crossed finials (chigi) projecting above the roof, and horizontal log weights (katsuogi) running along the ridge. The simple lines, natural wood, and elegant colors combine to create a rustic and dignified aesthetic, making one feel as if they have traveled back to the beginning of Japanese Shinto culture.
Among the shrine’s most recognizable landmarks is the graceful Sorihashi Bridge, often known as the Taiko Bridge because its elegant arch resembles the curved profile of a traditional Japanese drum. Spanning a tranquil pond before the shrine entrance, the bridge forms one of Osaka’s most picturesque and frequently photographed scenes. Its vivid vermilion railings stand in beautiful contrast to the surrounding greenery and the still waters below, creating a composition of remarkable balance and serenity. As I paused to admire the bridge, its gentle curve seemed to invite visitors to leave the bustle of the outside world behind and enter the sacred precincts of the shrine with a calm and reflective mind.
Culturally, Sumiyoshi Taisha has played a central role in Japanese religious life for nearly two millennia. Throughout its long history, emperors, samurai, merchants, sailors, and ordinary citizens have come here to offer prayers for safe journeys, prosperous businesses, family well-being, and good fortune. As one of Japan’s oldest and most revered Shinto shrines, it continues to be a place where ancient traditions remain an active part of everyday life. When I visited, the shrine was filled with local worshippers with devout solemn expressions, quietly making their way from one shrine building to another. Some people bowed gently before the worship hall, threw incense money, and rang the bell rope according to the shrine’s etiquette, the crisp sound of the bell echoing in the courtyard; others put their hands together and prayed silently, hoping to convey their wishes to the Sumiyoshi Sanjin.
The shrine is also deeply woven into Japanese literature, poetry, and classical art, often appearing as a symbol of longevity, protection, and divine blessing. The main hall is also one of the most sought-after venues for traditional Japanese Shinto wedding ceremonies. Many Japanese couples choose the shrine because marriage in Shinto is regarded as a sacred union witnessed by the kami (deities), with the blessings extending not only to the couple but also to their families and future generations.
I spent nearly an hour at the shrine observing the wedding ceremony, fascinated by this important expression of Japanese culture and tradition. Unlike the grand celebrations often seen elsewhere, the ceremony unfolded with quiet dignity and there was not loud music, nor any grand ceremony. A traditional Shinto wedding at Sumiyoshi Taisha typically begins with a solemn procession led by Shinto priests, followed by purification rituals to symbolically cleanse the couple before the gods. Afterwards, the bride and groom then make offerings to the deities, exchange cups of ceremonial sake in the ancient san-san-kudo ritual, recite their wedding vows, and present sacred evergreen branches, known as tamagushi, as offerings of gratitude and sincerity.
The bride was dressed in an elegant white silk shiromuku, the traditional bridal kimono whose pure white color symbolizes purity and sincerity. Beside her, the groom wore a formal white montsuki haori hakama, the classic ceremonial attire reserved for important occasions. Surrounded by close family members, the couple exchanged their vows in an atmosphere of quiet reverence. Their presence highlighted an important aspect of Japanese culture: marriage is regarded not only as the union of two individuals, but also as the coming together of two families. The ceremony emphasized harmony, mutual respect, and the bonds that extend beyond the bride and groom themselves. As I quietly watched the ceremony unfold, I realized that I was witnessing more than a wedding. It was a living tradition that has been passed down through generations.
Ōsaka Tenman-gū is another shrine that I visited. It is one of Osaka’s most important religious and cultural landmarks. While Sumiyoshi Taisha is dedicated to the deities who protect travelers and the sea, Ōsaka Tenman-gū is dedicated to Sugawara no Michizane, the Heian-period scholar, poet, and statesman who was later deified as Tenjin, the Shinto deity of scholarship, learning, and the arts.
Osaka Tenmangu Shrine’s architecture perfectly embodies the elegant charm of Edo-period shrine architecture. Although the shrine has been destroyed by fire and war multiple times, and most of the current buildings are reconstructed. The exquisitely decorated halls, intricately carved wooden components, vibrant vermilion architecture, and tranquil gardens still perfectly preserve the solemn and rustic atmosphere of a traditional Japanese shrine. The plum trees within the shrine are also renowned. This is because Sugawara no Michizane, who was enshrined here, was deeply fond of plum blossoms, and the plum blossom thus became one of his symbols. It is a legend when Michizane was exiled from Kyoto, the plum tree in his home, longing for its master, flew to his side overnight. This is the famous Japanese legend of the “Flying Plum Blossom.”
It plays an especially important role in the lives of students. Before school entrance examinations, university admissions, or professional certification exams, thousands of people visit the shrine to pray for success. Many purchaseema (wooden prayer plaques) on which they write their academic wishes, or protective amulets (omamori) believed to bring good fortune in examinations. This tradition has made the shrine one of Japan’s most significant centers for educational blessings.
Hidden among the bustling streets of central Osaka, Namba Yasaka Jinja is relatively small compared with Osaka’s more famous historical sites. As I approached the shrine, I was attracted by its extraordinary Shishiden, an enormous lion’s head standing approximately twelve meters high. Its fierce golden eyes, flared nostrils, and wide-open mouth created a dramatic and unforgettable sight. According to local tradition, the lion’s open mouth is believed to swallow evil spirits and bad fortune while attracting good luck, prosperity, and success.
Although it is in the city center, the wooden shrine buildings, stone lanterns, and carefully maintained grounds reflect the quiet elegance of traditional Shinto architecture. The contrast between the ancient shrine and the surrounding high-rise buildings perfectly captures the character of Osaka, where centuries-old traditions continue to thrive within a vibrant modern city.
Osaka is a very modern city but there are still some traditional houses and gardens for me to visit. Within Tennoji Park, Keitakuen Garden is one of Osaka’s finest examples of a traditional Japanese landscape garden. Originally completed in 1908 as part of the residence of the distinguished merchant Sumitomo Kichizaemon, the garden was designed according to the principles of traditional Japanese landscape architecture, recreating the beauty of nature in miniature. Every winding path, carefully placed stone, tranquil pond, and gently shaped hill was arranged with meticulous care to evoke the scenery of mountains, rivers, and forests within a relatively compact space. The concept of miniature landscapes is to encompass an infinite range of mountains and rivers within a limited space.
At the heart of the garden lies a tranquil pond, its surface reflected the surrounding pines, maples, and carefully sculpted shrubs. Winding paths led me around the water, revealing a different perspective at every turn. Small stone bridges span narrow inlets, while natural rock formations and gentle slopes are arranged to resemble mountains and valleys. Every element has been meticulously positioned to create a balanced composition.
Keizei-en Garden was the last stop on my trip to Osaka. There, I sat in a traditional wooden house built beside a pond, quietly admiring the garden view from the wooden-framed window. Ripples spread across the pond, a gentle winter breeze rustled the trees, and a serene tranquility enveloped me. Sitting there quietly, savoring this moment of peace, I couldn’t help but reflect on my journey.
Just the day before, I had arrived at Kansai International Airport, embarking on my first trip to Japan with anticipation; and now, I found myself in a traditional garden that embodies over a century of garden art and Japanese aesthetics, experiencing a completely different side of Japan. In just two days, I witnessed the Sengoku Period history of Osaka Castle, strolled through the vibrant streets and alleys, wandered through the dazzling nightscape of the modern city, and experienced the traditional culture that continues to this day in shrines and gardens. That peaceful winter afternoon ultimately became one of my most precious memories of Osaka. I gradually understood that what truly moves me is not just its world-famous landmarks, but also the moments that allow me to slow down and quietly feel the passage of time.
Gone like the wind 