After two weeks of island-hopping in the Philippines, I made a last-minute goal on my way home: stop in Japan for four days. The country was practically on the way already, and I'd always wanted to go.
Since it was my first time in Tokyo, I decided to skip the usual tourist checklist — Shibuya crossing, a Don Quijote splurge, a theme cafe or two. I'd just spent two weeks rushing from place to place trying to see and do everything, and frankly, I was exhausted. This time, with only four days, I wanted to slow down. I wanted to learn something, not just photograph it. So I booked a traditional tea ceremony.
I found the experience on Airbnb, hosted in a quiet building tucked into the back streets of Asakusa, one of Tokyo's more traditional neighborhoods. Booking gave me a few choices: a private session or a group of up to eight, in English or Japanese. I went with the group option (more fun, and easier on the wallet) and English, since my Japanese isn't quite ceremony-ready yet.
The day of, it was raining, and I nearly got lost looking for the place, hidden as it was down a back street. I made it just in time. Stepping into the lobby felt like walking straight into a period drama — quiet, warm, the soft sound of trickling water drifting through the air. After checking in, a woman in a beautiful kimono led me and one other waiting guest into a back room, where we left our shoes at the door.
Next came the dressing room, and this is where I'll admit I lost track of time. Rows of kimonos in every color and pattern lined the walls, and choosing felt like a small, delightful crisis. (Staff are on hand to help if you're as indecisive as I was.) I finally settled on a light blue kimono with an orange floral pattern and a blue obi the staff recommended, then had my hair styled into a cute updo with an accessory to match.
Freshly dressed, I joined the others in a waiting room — including the man from the lobby earlier, who turned out to be visiting from the Philippines too. We ended up in the same group, which made for an easy, friendly start to the afternoon. Since we arrived early to the ceremony room, we had time to take in the space (tea utensils and bowls already laid out, waiting) and sneak in a quick photoshoot before things began.
Our group came to eight in total, with guests from Canada, Brazil, and the Philippines. Our host, Wakana, was warm and graceful, walking us through how the ceremony would unfold. Normally, guests would kneel throughout, but we were told we could sit however was comfortable. Photos were allowed; video was not.
Wakana opened with a short history of the tea ceremony and the Zen philosophy behind it. Then came the moment I keep coming back to: watching her ladle hot water from a cast iron cauldron into my ceramic bowl, before guiding me through whisking the matcha myself. The whole thing felt almost meditative — the goal wasn't to do anything impressive, just to be present, to make the tea and drink it in quiet harmony with everyone else in the room.
That idea has a name in Japanese: 一期一会, ichigo ichie — treasuring the moment and giving people or task your undivided attention, because it will never be recreated, not even with the same people. Learning to enjoy little things in life. That's the phrase I walked away with.
The matcha itself was earthy and bitter (I suspect it's not for everyone), but the wagashi — traditional sweets served alongside — balanced it out perfectly. All in all, it was a special experience: equal parts educational and genuinely enjoyable.
It wasn't perfect, though. As the ceremony went on, a few guests quietly checked out of the experience entirely, phones up, clearly there for the photo rather than the moment. One woman kept pacing back and forth filming the whole thing, despite being told beforehand that video wasn't allowed. It was distracting, and honestly, a little secondhand-embarrassing — not just disrespectful to Wakana, but missing the entire point of what we were there to do. I told myself this was probably just par for the course at a ceremony catered to tourists and tried not to let it pull me out of my own experience.
Even so, I'd recommend doing the tea ceremony to anyone visiting Japan, especially if you're craving something slower and more reflective than the typical sightseeing sprint. If I did it again, though, I'd look into a private session, or a class geared more toward locals — for a version of the experience with a little less performance and a little more presence.