Discover the beauty of Japanese islands via small-ship luxury cruising

In late March this year, as Yokohama shook itself awake from its wintery slumber, I boarded the Seabourn Quest for a long-anticipated, two-week cruise around the Japanese islands. Our timing couldn't have been more perfect: The cherry blossom season was just beginning, unfurling its gauzy tapestry of white and pink across the landscape.

With barely a ripple, the Quest – a slick, all-white vessel carrying only 347 guests from 73 countries and attended by 357 crew members from 44 – eased away from the bustling port.

This was cruising at its most refined. No towering behemoth with water parks and thousands of passengers. Just a floating sanctuary of dignified luxury moving silently through deep blue waters. As we pulled away from Yokohama’s metropolitan sprawl, there was a collective sense of anticipation, knowing that over the next fortnight, the ship would deliver us to ports so remote and logistically challenging that they normally remain inaccessible to all but the most determined travellers.

Our first morning at sea brought intellectual stimulation alongside relaxation. On board were a couple of former diplomats and authors. Throughout the voyage, they delivered fascinating lectures on the complex history and geopolitical landscape of East Asia – the longstanding tensions between Japan, China, Russia, and the United States, all played out in these waters we were sailing through; the nuclear policies reshaping the region; and the remarkable economic transformations that had turned simple fishing villages into industrial powerhouses like Yokohama. These scholarly offerings provided fascinating context that no guidebook could match, transforming our journey from mere sightseeing to deep cultural immersion.

The next dawn brought our first port – Hiroshima. As we ventured from the shoreline, the city revealed itself, its streets and parks draped in a breathtaking canopy of white and pink sakura blossoms that seemed to defy its sombre history. We walked through the Peace Memorial Park, where the skeletal dome of the former Industrial Promotion Hall stands against the sky as a stark reminder of a painful past, evoking a profound sense of reflection and sorrow. The carefully tended grounds and memorials create a space that honours Hiroshima’s terrible history, while allowing visitors to contemplate its message of peace – a moment also reflected in the nearby Shukkeien garden where a single bent gingko tree that survived the atomic blast provides silent testimony to both destruction and resilience.

At Miyajima the following day, we climbed hillside paths festooned with cherry trees that created a floating white cloud of flowers hanging above ancient wooden shrines. The famous vermilion torii gate of Itsukushima Shrine appeared to hover on the water's surface, while in the nearby shopping streets, old machiya-style homes have been transformed into boutiques selling curry oyster buns and sweet red bean cakes. Not far from these lively thoroughfares, the massive unfinished timber library of Hokoku Shrine (Senjokaku), begun in 1587 but never completed, stands as a grand monument to interrupted ambition.

As we continued northward through the Kanmon Strait to Busan, South Korea, the Quest revealed itself to be a haven of civilised pleasures. Mornings began with stretch classes overlooking the sea, while afternoons offered bridge lessons or informal gatherings over tea service with champagne, scones and delicate cucumber sandwiches. For those willing to brave the cold air, there was fine dining under stars, followed, one evening, by an elegant recital in the Grand Salon by a classically trained pianist.

After a day in Busan, the ship's northward journey brought us back into Japanese waters to smaller ports where modern Japan seemed to recede. In Sakaiminato, weather-worn wooden homes lined quiet streets where fishing boats bobbed gently in the harbour. The town is famous as the birthplace of Shigeru Mizuki, Japan's legendary manga artist whose supernatural yokai creatures are immortalised in 177 bronze statues along Mizuki Shigeru Road. Down by the waterfront, we discovered a tiny sushi restaurant with rickety chairs and tables polished by generations of elbows, where we savoured fish of such freshness that it seemed to melt on contact with the tongue.

Tsuruga unfolded itself through temple gates and communal bathing houses fed by hot springs. The Japanese approach to bathing struck me as beautifully practical – simple, utilitarian facilities with indoor and outdoor pools where the bracing contrast between steaming waters and cool air created an experience more rejuvenating than any luxury spa treatment. Elsewhere in the city, the Kehi Shrine, dating from 702, features one of Japan's three most remarkable wooden torii gates, its simple elegance all the more impressive for having weathered thirteen centuries.

In Takaoka, we visited Zuiryuji Temple, a national treasure constructed entirely of wood without a single nail, its clean lines and balanced proportions exemplifying the restrained beauty of Zen Buddhist design. Walking through its pristinely manicured grounds, we found ourselves naturally falling into a quieter, more contemplative state. Precisely the effect, one imagines, its builders intended.

And so, the days passed. Again and again, I reflected on the peculiar alchemy of small-ship cruising – how it manages to distil travel to its essence by removing all friction. No hunting for hotels in unfamiliar cities, no deciphering train timetables in hieroglyphic scripts, no navigating complex ferry schedules to reach island destinations. Instead, each morning brought a new horizon, a new adventure, with the comforting knowledge that at day's end, our floating resort awaited with familiar faces and creature comforts.

As we pushed further north towards Hokkaido, the cherry blossoms retreated, their buds still tightly closed against the lingering chill. In Sakata, we explored the immaculately preserved Homma residence, once home to one of Japan's most prominent merchant families during the Edo period when this small port was a crucial hub for the rice trade. 

The landscape grew more dramatic as we sailed towards Hakodate and the snow-streaked mountains that loomed in the distance beyond its harbour. Early morning found us wandering among vendors in the central morning market, examining piles of dried kelp and gleaming plump scallops arranged in neat stalls.

Our final port of Kushiro appeared through morning fog, its city market offering a final opportunity to indulge in the ocean's bounty – mounds of uni, buttery toro, and sweet crab arranged with gastro-porn precision. Along one of the main thoroughfares, we discovered a traditional artisan workshop where calligraphic seals are still made to order, each one a miniature work of art pressed into vermilion stamp ink to create distinctive personal signatures

As the Quest finally glided back into Yokohama harbour, I found myself silently thanking the ship for its gentle companionship on a voyage cocooned by airy pink clouds of cherry blossoms that had seemed to follow us from port to port.

In two perfect weeks, suspended between sea and sky, we had traced Japan's coastline during its most magical season, experiencing moments both profound and simple. The bent tree in Hiroshima that survived an apocalypse, the languid sea days spent watching the ever-changing face of the ocean, the taste of just-caught fish in Sakaiminato.

What remained, though, was a perspective rarely granted to those who visit by conventional means – Japan seen from the sea. It was how Japan had first revealed itself to the world, and how I will always remember it: Islands emerging from the mist, mountains descending to meet the water's edge, and everywhere the quiet dignity of a culture that understands better than most the beauty of moments that cannot last.

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