The following morning, feeling a little braver, we decided to tackle the Metro into central Yokohama. With most of the signs in Japanese, it felt slightly daunting at first. We stood on the platform double-checking maps and pretending we knew exactly what we were doing.
That’s when a local gentleman, standing with his young son, noticed our mild confusion. He asked where we were heading and kindly explained which train to catch and which station to watch for. Such a simple gesture — but one that perfectly sums up the warmth and helpfulness we’ve experienced in Japan.
We stepped off at Yokohama Station and spent some time picking up a few essentials and soaking up the everyday rhythm of the city. It’s always fascinating to step slightly away from the tourist spots and see normal life unfolding — commuters moving with purpose, immaculate streets, orderly queues.
Navigating the Metro back to the harbour felt like a small victory. We were practically locals by then.
Down at the waterfront, a strawberry festival was in full swing — or at least the queue for it was. The crowds were enormous, stretching far beyond what we were prepared to stand in, so we made the executive decision to admire it from afar and move on.
Instead, we stopped to admire the magnificent Nippon Maru, the beautifully preserved former training vessel now permanently docked in Yokohama’s harbour. With her towering masts and crisp white hull, she looks every bit the proud sailing ship of a bygone era.
Next came one of the more unusual attractions on our list: the Cup Noodles Museum Yokohama. A museum dedicated to instant noodles might not sound thrilling — but it was surprisingly engaging. From the history of Japan’s noodle obsession to the global success of cup noodles, it’s clever, interactive, and far more interesting than you’d expect.
Directly across the road stands the enormous Cosmo Clock 21, the giant Ferris wheel with a clock built into its centre. It dominates the skyline and is surrounded by a compact amusement park complete with some impressively twisty rollercoasters. It’s hard not to feel a little childlike standing beneath it.
As evening approached, we wandered down to Yokohama Chinatown — and what a contrast. The entrance gate alone is a blaze of colour and intricate detail. Inside, the streets buzz with energy: bright lanterns, sizzling food stalls, ornate façades and crowds flowing in every direction.
The main thoroughfare was packed, so we slipped down a quieter side street and stumbled upon a tiny local bar — just three tables inside. We perched at the counter and, through a combination of sign language, smiles and hopeful pointing, managed to order a couple of beers. The lady behind the bar, who must have been well into her 80s, served us with quiet efficiency and even presented two small plates of food. No fuss, no fanfare — just understated hospitality. It felt authentic and special.
Later, we wandered towards Hong Kong Street and chose a restaurant for dinner. The service was warm, the food satisfying, and we decided it was time to try Japan’s famous rice wine, sake. Smooth, slightly warming, and deceptively easy to drink — a fitting end to another day of small adventures.
From mastering the Metro to beers in a three-table bar, it was one of those days that didn’t rely on big headline attractions — just simple experiences that slowly stitch themselves into lasting memories.
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