The Sound of Bells at Midnight
The first time I heard about joya no kane — the 108 bell strikes on New Year’s Eve — I thought it sounded like a nice ceremony. Something reverent, probably over in ten minutes. What nobody tells you is that 108 strikes takes a while. The bell at Chion-in in Kyoto needs seventeen monks to swing the log. Each strike reverberates for maybe thirty seconds before the next one starts. By the twentieth ring, you’ve stopped counting and started just… standing there.
That’s Shogatsu in a nutshell. Japan’s New Year period (January 1-3, 2026) isn’t a party. It’s closer to a national exhale — the country collectively decides to stop rushing for three days.
The Crowds Are the Point
Hatsumode — the first shrine or temple visit of the year — draws genuinely staggering numbers. Meiji Shrine in Tokyo reportedly gets around three million visitors in the first three days. Fushimi Inari in Kyoto and Sensoji in Asakusa are similarly packed. The approach roads become slow-moving rivers of people, flanked by food stalls selling yakisoba, amazake (sweet rice drink), and whatever the local specialty happens to be.
The instinct is to avoid the crowds. Go early morning, people say, or wait until January 3rd when it thins out. That’s reasonable advice. But there’s something about being in a crowd of people who are all doing the same thing — tossing coins, clapping twice, bowing — that makes the experience different from just visiting a shrine on a normal Tuesday. You don’t have to be religious to feel it.
Practically speaking: if you’re going to Meiji Shrine, expect a 60-90 minute wait to reach the main hall during peak hours on January 1st. The line moves steadily. Sensoji is slightly more manageable. Fushimi Inari is less about a single queue and more about the general density of people on the mountain paths — it thins out significantly the further up you go.
What Fills the Lacquer Boxes
Osechi-ryori is the traditional New Year meal, and it looks like someone spent three days arranging food into a jewel box. Because someone probably did. The dishes are packed into tiered lacquer boxes called jubako, and each item is chosen for its symbolic meaning — kuromame (black beans) for health, ebi (shrimp) for longevity, kazunoko (herring roe) for fertility.
The thing about osechi is that it was originally designed to give the household cook a break during the holiday. Everything is prepared in advance and served cold. Some items are genuinely delicious (the datemaki, a sweet rolled omelette, is addictive). Others are more of an acquired taste. The kelp rolls are… fine.
If you want to try osechi without committing to an entire jubako set, department store basements (depachika) start selling individual portions in late December. Takashimaya and Isetan usually have impressive selections. Hotels that cater to international guests sometimes offer osechi-inspired breakfast spreads on January 1st — worth asking about when you book.
Beyond osechi, you’ll encounter ozoni — a mochi (rice cake) soup that varies by region. Kanto-style uses a clear broth; Kansai-style uses white miso. Toshikoshi soba (year-crossing noodles) is eaten on New Year’s Eve, not during the holiday itself, so don’t go looking for it on January 1st.
Three Days of Almost Nothing Being Open
This needs to be said clearly: Japan shuts down for Shogatsu. Not in the gradual, some-things-are-closed way that Western countries handle Christmas. Most restaurants, shops, museums, and attractions close from December 31 through January 3. Some reopen on the 2nd, many don’t come back until the 4th.
Convenience stores (7-Eleven, Lawson, FamilyMart) remain open and become your lifeline. Stock up on supplies before December 31st. If you’re staying in a hotel, check whether their restaurant operates during the holiday — many reduce service to breakfast only, or close entirely.
The upside of everything being closed is that the streets take on a different quality. Tokyo feels genuinely quiet on January 1st in a way that’s almost disorienting. Department stores run massive fukubukuro (lucky bags) sales starting January 2nd, which is basically the only shopping event during the period. Lines form before dawn.
Trains run on holiday schedules, which means reduced frequency but not a total shutdown. The key exception is New Year’s Eve, when many rail companies run all-night services to accommodate hatsumode visitors heading to shrines and temples at midnight.
The Weather Situation
Early January in Japan is cold. Tokyo hovers around 2-10°C, Kyoto is similar but feels colder because of the basin geography, and anything north of Tokyo gets properly frigid. If you’re doing hatsumode at an outdoor shrine, you’re standing in a slow-moving queue for potentially over an hour. Bring layers. Bring hand warmers (available at any convenience store for about ¥100). Bring patience.
On the bright side, this is one of the clearest-sky seasons in much of Japan. The winter air is dry and visibility is excellent, which matters if you’re hoping to see hatsuhinode — the first sunrise of the year. Popular viewing spots include hilltops, beaches, and Tokyo Skytree’s observation deck (book tickets in advance — this sells out).
Getting Around and Getting There
Accommodation during Shogatsu books up early, especially in Kyoto and Tokyo. Domestic travel peaks as Japanese families visit hometowns, so hotel prices rise and availability drops. If you’re booking less than a month out, you might find better options in secondary cities — Osaka has good access to Kyoto shrines and generally more availability.
Flights into Japan around New Year are predictably expensive. If you’re still in the planning stage, Trip.com is worth checking for package deals that bundle flights and hotels — the savings on the accommodation side sometimes offset the peak-season flight markup. For activities once you’re there, temple tours and cultural experiences (mochi-making workshops, kimono rental for hatsumode) can be booked through KLOOK. Not everything is available during the holiday itself, so check dates carefully before booking.
A Japan Rail Pass might make sense if you’re combining Shogatsu in Tokyo with day trips or a Kyoto visit, though you’d need to weigh the cost against the reduced schedule. KKday sells JR Passes and various New Year-specific activity packages — I’ve seen kimono rental + shrine visit combos that look reasonably priced, though I haven’t personally tried them.
Pocket Wi-Fi or a local SIM card is particularly important during Shogatsu. With so many closures and schedule changes, you’ll be checking Google Maps and restaurant availability constantly. AeroBile rents portable Wi-Fi devices that you can pick up at the airport.
Fortune Slips and the Sound of Coins
One of the small rituals that sticks with you: at the shrine, after you’ve waited in the queue and made your offering (a five-yen coin is traditional — the word for five yen, ‘go-en’, sounds like the word for good fortune), you can draw an omikuji fortune slip. The fortunes range from daikichi (great luck) to daikyo (terrible luck). If you get a bad one, you tie it to a designated rack at the shrine to leave the bad luck behind. If you get a good one, you keep it.
I’m not sure how seriously most people take the results. Probably about as seriously as anyone takes a horoscope — enough to smile about a good one, not enough to cancel plans over a bad one.
The walk back from the shrine is usually the nicest part. The crowds thin, the food stalls are still going, and there’s this particular quality to a cold January evening when you can smell charcoal smoke from the stalls and hear the shuffle of a thousand pairs of shoes on gravel. It’s not dramatic. It’s just nice.
The Part Nobody Photographs
Shogatsu is mostly sitting around. That’s not a criticism — it’s the actual experience for most Japanese families. You sit in a heated room, eat too much mochi, watch the annual comedy specials on TV, and occasionally venture out for hatsumode. The kids get otoshidama (money in small envelopes from relatives). Someone falls asleep on the kotatsu by 3pm.
As a visitor, you probably won’t experience the family side unless you’re staying with Japanese friends. But the general atmosphere of collective rest pervades everything. The convenience store clerk seems calmer. The trains are emptier. Even the crows sound less aggressive.
My last morning, I bought a can of hot coffee from a vending machine outside the hotel and stood there for a minute watching the street. A delivery truck went by, which seemed wrong somehow — like it was breaking the rules. Then nothing happened for a while, and that was fine.