Lucarda Japan Travel Diary

Twelve hours of flying on the way there and fourteen on the way back: that’s the distance, measured in time, separating Italy and Japan.

The first memory I hold on to is the sight of Mount Fuji, veiled by a few white clouds, and a stretch of coastline under a mostly clear sky, from the window of the ITA Airways plane as it began its descent toward Tokyo. I had just woken up after a night spent, quite literally, among the clouds.

Arrival in Tokyo: extremely hot and humid. My first impression of Japan? A sense of familiarity, which would stay with me and comfort me throughout my stay; a sense of familiarity triggered by a certain fragrance in the air, something that recalled the tropical warmth of Kerala, in India, a place that holds a special spot in my heart. I never felt as if I were on the other side of the world—even though, in fact, I was. Here, I was about to spend ten days in my own company.

In Tokyo, I opted to stay in the neighborhoods of Taitō and Asakusa, in two different ryokan, the traditional Japanese inns.

The first, The Edo Sakura, could not have been a better choice: located in a quiet district, far from the chaos of the metropolis, it was a property where every detail had been carefully curated. The fact that the owners were two architects was evident: impeccable taste in the furnishings, dark wooden floors, traditional-style interiors. A yukata—the lightweight cotton kimono used as loungewear or sleepwear—was available for guests: a small luxury that felt like a balm after the long journey.

The second ryokan, Kamogawa in Asakusa, was my first true encounter with Japanese daily life: tatami flooring, futon laid out in the evening and folded away in the morning. Perhaps here I slept better than anywhere else.

Tokyo: a city of contrasts. To grasp them best—between one neighborhood and the next, and in their simultaneous coexistence—I chose my favorite way of exploring when I travel: walking. Ten or more kilometers a day are a classic of mine, and so I was able to cross through the main districts, happy to have chosen to stay near the Sumida River, the side of the city that felt closest to me.

What did I love most in those first three days? Certainly finding myself walking in the dark—night falls here already around 6:30 p.m.—through the grounds of the Sensō-ji temple complex, wrapped in silence and in an almost suspended atmosphere. And, of course, the surprise of seeing Lucarda products in Tokyo: no better way to feel at home than to stumble upon a piece of home even here.

The most memorable culinary discovery was the dinner on my last night: Ohiriya, an izakaya—a typical Japanese tavern where you drink and share small plates. Here, alongside a menu that also included natural Italian wines, I sampled a series of small dishes, reminiscent of our tapas. It was here that I tried wagyu for the first time, the renowned Japanese beef famous for its fine marbling that makes it incredibly tender and rich, almost buttery in flavor, together with other local specialties.

But let’s continue the journey heading south: on the morning of my fourth day I boarded the high-speed Shinkansen for four hours, destination Hiroshima, specifically Miyajima, a UNESCO World Heritage island famous for the Itsukushima Shrine, which seems to rise from the water at high tide. I love watching landscapes change, and here for the first time glimpses of the sea appeared.

I arrived in Hiroshima and chose as my base a super vintage hotel, thirteen stories right by the sea and away from the city center; the same location as the 2023 G7 Hiroshima Summit. I asked for a high-floor room—I love looking at things from above—and from here the view stretched over all of Hiroshima and, above all, the bay in front, part of the Seto Inland Sea, with its islands.

I loved the scent of this sea and discovered a path running right along the water, with several small beaches, circling a lush hill full of plants inhabited by insects as loud as our cicadas. That day I nearly suffered heatstroke walking the entire path, almost completing the loop before heading back. I took the chance to bring along a few “Lucardine” to photograph resting on a rock. I walked on the beach, collected shells, dipped my feet in the water. I reached Hiroshima’s port with its red lighthouse, before returning to end the day with an okonomiyaki, a sort of Japanese savory pancake, a local specialty.

The next morning I had already booked the hydrofoil to Miyajima Island, home to the Itsukushima Shrine, suspended above the ocean, with its famous torii marking the entrance. Torii are the sacred gates of Shinto religion, delimiting the space considered inhabited by the gods and separating the earthly world from the divine. Thirty minutes on the hydrofoil under a light drizzle, with the smell of salt in the air… This was the place I loved most: an island I would have liked to explore all day on foot, with countless deer roaming free, parks with streams, and quiet, hidden corners.

And immediately off again: heading to Kansai, the region of Japan that includes historic cities like Kyoto, Osaka, and Nara. The following days I spent between Kyoto and Osaka. In Kyoto, I stayed at the Ryokan Kyo no Yado Sangen, a traditional house with a courtyard, where I found silence and tranquility; here too, tatami floors, futon, yukata… I truly felt at home and was able to try the traditional Japanese breakfast, made up of many small dishes of rice, tofu, vegetables, and tea, served with incredible attention to every detail. Nothing is left to chance in Japan: it is the most orderly, clean, and discreet country, where I have felt the safest of all.

In Kyoto, just a short walk from the ryokan, stood the Yasaka Pagoda, an almost iconic sight of the city landscape. My time was a bit tight, but among the things dearest to me was visiting the Fushimi Inari-Taisha Shrine, famous for its thousands of vermilion torii lining the paths behind the main temple. So I set out in the morning and spent hours climbing the hill, following both the main paths and the side ones immersed in the forest.

In the afternoon I then moved on to Nagoya for a visit to a client, who runs there a beautiful and modern store opened in 1978: Everly.

That evening in Kyoto I ended up getting lost in the streets of Gion, under a downpour and completely unprepared. I was searching for excellent wagyu, and determination paid off: the meat was incredible, melting in my mouth. So rich in fat, even a tiny portion left me feeling fuller than I had ever felt before.

The next day I moved on to Osaka, where I once again found some Lucarda products and visited another client, who runs a very elegant shop a little outside the city center.

Here I chose to stay on the banks of the Tosabori River: a decidedly more modern and slightly hipster accommodation. My room, with its huge window overlooking the river, offered at night a contemplative view: the rippling water illuminated by the reflections of skyscrapers, a magical atmosphere. Both evenings I sat in the dark, gazing out the window, piecing together my thoughts and impressions of this trip, as the moment of departure drew closer: the following morning I would return to Tokyo, back to the Edo Sakura, where the day after I would leave for home.

If Mount Fuji had been the opening scene of this journey, the 360-degree view of Tokyo from the Sky Tree, over 450 meters high, was my farewell to the city and to Japan. Only from that height did I realize how Tokyo is threaded with rivers and canals, extending all the way to the distant sea. From above, wrapped in a light haze and silence, it carried an air of mystery.

In Japan I felt at home—so far away, yet so close to myself… Wrapped in the scent of the air, which every time I opened the window told me something familiar and yet slightly different each day.

Ellen