Our last morning in Osaka started with a beautiful breakfast. A big sectioned tray arrived, filled with lots of different bits—little portions of fish, rice, pickles, things I couldn’t identify but ate anyway—and all of it laid out with the kind of care that makes you feel like you should be more respectful than just shovelling it in.
And then there was the tea. Black tea. Excellent, I thought. Finally, something familiar. But no… no understanding whatsoever of adding milk to it. Instead, I was presented with little sachets of crème. Not milk. Crème. So there I was, sat in Japan, cautiously squeezing what is essentially dessert topping into my breakfast tea. It worked… sort of.
Then it was time to leave Osaka and head back to Tokyo on the Shinkansen. There’s something about these trains that feels different to anything else. It’s not just “getting a train”—it’s more like preparing for a flight. People arrive early, queue neatly, and everyone seems to have proper luggage with them. Fewer stops means fewer chances to hop on and off, so everyone is organised.
Before boarding, we grabbed a spot at Starbucks for a bit of crowd watching. Always a solid decision. There were long lines of school kids moving through the station, some of them spotting us and smiling excitedly. A few waved, which of course we returned like minor celebrities. Not entirely sure what they thought we were, but we’ll take it.
When the Shinkansen arrived, it did so with the kind of precision that makes you question every delayed train you’ve ever experienced in the UK. These things don’t just run on time—they define what “on time” means. You could probably set your watch by them… if anyone still did that.
The journey itself was smooth, quiet, and efficient. No drama, no delays, just a steady glide back towards Tokyo. We got a brief view of Mt Fuji which was nice, but I barely managed to get a photo before it slid back into the clouds.
Arriving in Tokyo felt like stepping back into organised chaos. We checked into the hotel, and in a move that still feels wildly luxurious, our bags were taken and trollied up to our rooms for us. No dragging suitcases through corridors today—thank you very much.
From the room, we had a view of the Skytree standing tall over the skyline, casually reminding everything else what “tall” really means.
We didn’t hang about for long and soon set off walking, heading towards Senso-ji. The area was busy, buzzing, and full of energy, with stalls, lights, and people everywhere. One of those places where you don’t really have a plan—you just go where the crowd and curiosity take you.
And somehow, through a series of turns that felt both deliberate and accidental, we ended up back at the Skytree just as Aimi hit that very specific level of hunger… hangry. The kind where decisions need to be made quickly and correctly.
The original plan was sushi. A noble plan. A plan I was fully on board with.
But no.
Ramen won.
I didn’t argue. It was the right call for survival.
Now fed, we took a short walk around the skytree park and found a beautiful cake shop. I mean the cakes were beautiful, and we wondered if they tasted as good as they looked. For £4 a slice in a country where that’s a whole breakfast, it seemed impossible.
Aimi went for Chocolate Berry tart and I went for Chocolate Orange. And they were sublime. Worth every yen.
