Jul 01, 2026

The Rainy Day We Almost Skipped Hakone's Open-Air Museum

When people picture Japan in cherry blossom season, they imagine blue skies and trees bursting with pink blooms. My Hakone looked nothing like that. Dark clouds hung low over the mountains. Rain fell steadily outside my hotel window. The cherry blossoms were only beginning to emerge, their petals heavy with droplets of water. After several busy days in Tokyo, I had come to Hakone looking for a slower pace. Just over an hour from the city by train, this mountain retreat is known for its hot springs, natural beauty, and famous Open-Air Museum. What I found was rain. And surprisingly, it made the trip even better.

Escaping Tokyo
Like many travelers, I added Hakone to my itinerary as a break from Tokyo's relentless energy. The train ride itself felt like a transition. Skyscrapers gave way to forests and mountains. The air felt cooler. The pace softened. As we climbed higher into the hills, I could feel myself exhale. We stayed at Merveille Hakone Gora, an onsen hotel tucked into the mountains. The room overlooked a valley dotted with homes, trees, and the occasional cherry blossom beginning to bloom. Even under gray skies, the view felt peaceful. My biggest recommendation for Hakone is simple: stay at an onsen. During the day, explore the mountains, museums, and winding streets. Then return to soak in the hot springs as evening settles over the valley. There is something deeply restorative about sitting in warm mineral water while cool mountain air drifts around you. After the energy and movement of Tokyo, it felt like exactly what I needed. By the next morning, rain was still falling outside our window.

The Museum We Almost Didn't Visit
We considered skipping the Hakone Open-Air Museum altogether. After all, isn't an outdoor museum best enjoyed on a sunny day? I'm so glad we didn't. From the moment we entered, it felt as though the weather had become part of the exhibition. Raindrops clung to sculptures. Mist drifted across the mountains behind them. Wet pathways reflected the artwork and surrounding landscape. The rolling hills seemed to disappear and reappear in the fog. What makes the museum special is not just the collection itself, but the way art and nature interact. One sculpture featured dozens of red and black figures suspended in an intricate web overhead. Another emerged from the landscape as if it had always belonged there. Everywhere we turned, art appeared unexpectedly between trees, across hillsides, and against dramatic mountain backdrops. The rain softened everything. Colors felt richer. The crowds seemed quieter. The entire experience became atmospheric and dreamlike. As an artist, I found myself slowing down and looking more carefully.

Climbing Into the Light
The moment I remember most wasn't outside. It was inside a tower. Hidden among the museum grounds is a stained-glass structure that looks relatively modest from the outside. Inside, it was absolutely magical! A spiral staircase winds upward through walls of stained glass, surrounded by thousands of pieces of colored light. As I climbed, the world outside disappeared. Blue, gold, red, and amber light spilled across the black iron staircase. Every step revealed new patterns and colors. Looking upward, the spiral seemed endless. I stopped several times just to take it all in. There was something almost meditative about the experience. The movement upward. The changing light. The feeling of being completely immersed in art rather than simply observing it. In a museum filled with remarkable sculptures, this was the moment that stayed with me. Not because it was the largest or most famous piece. Because it was unexpected.

Cherry Blossoms in the Rain
Cherry blossom season had only just begun. Most visitors dream of seeing trees covered in perfect clouds of pink. Instead, I found delicate blossoms still opening, their petals covered with raindrops. And honestly, I think I preferred them this way. The rain revealed details I might have missed on a sunny day. Tiny droplets gathered along each petal like glass beads. The colors appeared softer and richer at the same time. Nothing felt staged. Nothing felt perfect. And somehow, that made it more beautiful. Standing there, watching the blossoms sway gently in the rain, I was reminded that nature doesn't perform on our schedule. The flowers bloom when they are ready. The weather does what it wants. Our job is simply to pay attention.

Sometimes the Best Experiences Are the Ones We Almost Miss
Travel has taught me that some of the most meaningful experiences happen when reality doesn't match the picture in our heads. I came to Hakone expecting postcard-perfect cherry blossoms and sunny mountain views. Instead, I found rain, mist, and flowers still waking up for spring. Yet those are the images I remember most vividly. The stained-glass tower glowing against a gray sky. Raindrops clinging to cherry blossom petals. Sculptures emerging from the fog like quiet surprises. Hakone reminded me that beauty doesn't always arrive in perfect conditions. Sometimes it appears in the places we almost don't go.

-Teresa L.

Teresa Low is a writer, watercolor artist, executive coach, and former Fortune 500 CMO
based in New York City. Originally from Singapore, she writes about travel, creativity,
reinvention, and finding beauty in unexpected places.
Connect with Teresa on:
Substack - https://substack.com/@teresalow
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