In France, autumn was, for a long time, the season I dreaded — the one tied to the school year starting up again, to skies that shut early, to that grey northern gloom that settles in and doesn't really lift until spring. In Japan, it's the exact opposite, and I think it's only in the last few years that I've really noticed it: autumn there is the season when everything, finally, calms down.
An Autumn That Still Feels Like Summer
After the crushing humidity of July and August, the temperature drop is gradual, almost generous: it's not unusual to still be walking around in a t-shirt in late October, even early November, with highs still hovering around 20-25°C. People go out again, walk again, rediscover the pleasure of spending time outdoors without mentally mapping the shortest route between two air-conditioned buildings. The AC units, for their part, get switched off one by one — not all at once, but as a kind of signal that you can finally breathe.
Japanese nature in autumn is probably some of the most beautiful in the world — just behind Canada's, if I had to guess at a ranking. Koyo (紅葉), the turning of the maples and ginkgos, draws hikers from all over the world every year: over the decades, Japan has become a genuinely recognized destination for hiking, trekking and even camping during peak leaf season — on a level that, I think, has little to envy in the great North American classics.
A caveat is needed this year in particular: the end of summer 2026 was a rough one, with near-constant rain across much of the country, local flooding, and a fairly blunt reminder that Japan remains a country vulnerable to flood damage. Autumn's calm took longer than usual to arrive.
The cicadas (semi, セミ), which had been the soundtrack of summer for two straight months, are gradually falling silent — as much a sign as the cooling temperatures that the season has turned.
For me, it's hard not to think of My Neighbor Totoro at exactly this point in the year — probably the most obvious image, in Japanese animation, of that hinge between summer winding down and autumn settling in. The film isn't technically set in autumn, but that particular light, the fields of grain, the almost-too-green countryside just starting to turn — I find myself thinking of it every year around this time. It's never presented as some official truth in the film itself, of course — it's a purely personal association, the kind a viewer ends up making after one too many years spent quietly mixing up his own experience of Japan with Miyazaki's sense of light. My own reality is a good deal less poetic: no cat bus, no forest spirits, just an air-conditioned konbini on the corner, where I still duck in out of habit while the heat, at last, starts to loosen its grip.
I find that same faint nostalgia a little earlier in the calendar too, around Obon — the stretch that really closes out the Japanese summer before autumn takes over.
Obon (お盆) generally falls around mid-August, though dates and customs vary by region — some places celebrate it as early as mid-July. According to tradition, it's the time of year when ancestral spirits temporarily return to visit their family. Many Japanese people use the occasion to head back to their hometown or home region, often through some of the year's heaviest travel congestion, on the roads and on the trains alike. Families gather, sometimes visiting graves to clean them and leave offerings. It's also the period when bon-odori are held — folk dances put on all over the country, in village squares or neighborhood parking lots, to the sound of taiko drums. How closely these customs are followed varies a lot from one family to the next — some observe Obon quite carefully, others keep little more than a childhood memory of it, or a simple visit to the family grave.
What strikes me about Obon is the contrast: at the very moment you're passing kids in yukata in front of yakisoba stands, tradition also has it that the family's dead return, for a few days, to sit at the same table. That quiet presence of the absent gives Japanese summer a slightly different colour — joyful, family-oriented, and strangely nostalgic, all at once.
The Zen of Autumn
From that quiet memory summer leaves behind, autumn draws its own particular kind of contemplation. There's something distinctly Japanese about this way of sitting with autumn — Kyoto's great Zen temples, Tofuku-ji among them, are known for exactly that: the contrast between a dry garden's raked gravel and the red-and-orange blaze of maples above gives the season an almost meditative quality. You go less to look than to stop.
“You go less to look than to stop.”
Fireworks, Shichi-Go-San and Autumn Treats
Contrary to popular belief, Japanese autumn isn't entirely without fireworks. The Tsuchiura festival, in Ibaraki prefecture, has run one of the country's most prestigious hanabi competitions since 1925, every year deep into autumn. Some major summer fixtures have even migrated toward this milder season: the Yodogawa hanabi in Osaka recently moved its date to October.
Autumn is also the season of Shichi-Go-San (七五三), literally “seven-five-three” — a celebration marking an important milestone for children of those ages. In mid-November, families head to the major Shinto shrines, dress their children in kimono, and spend the day taking photos. If that's of interest, our partner photographer regularly captures scenes like these throughout the seasons.
On the food side, autumn has its own must-haves: charcoal-grilled dango sold along hiking trails, and kaki, the orange persimmon you'll see drying under eaves in the countryside. And then there's Oktoberfest — a festival imported from Germany but thoroughly embraced by Japan, which runs editions in major cities throughout October.
Halloween, Supersized
Halloween has grown, in recent years, into something genuinely massive in Japan — enough that authorities have had to impose restrictions at Shibuya Crossing, one of the country's most iconic gathering points for the occasion. Since October 2024, drinking in the street there has been banned, and enforcement has tightened every year since. Authorities regularly cite the 2022 Itaewon crowd disaster in Seoul as justification for these preventive measures.
Once that spike of activity passes, Japanese autumn quickly settles back into calm: onsens become natural refuges again as the air cools, light jackets replace t-shirts, and nature, quietly, gets ready for winter.
A Few Practical Pointers
- Koyo varies by region and altitude: as early as the start of October at higher elevations (Oku-Nikko), by mid-November for Tokyo and Kyoto.
- For a standout trip from Tokyo, head to Nikko (about 2 hours by train from Asakusa) — the UNESCO-listed Toshogu shrine offers a striking contrast between its gilding and the blazing maples around it; Kegon Falls and Lake Chuzenji are also worth the detour.
- Looking for something simpler, without a long trip? Mount Takao, under an hour from Shinjuku, remains a reliable choice for a short hike in full colour.
- For the contemplative experience, Kyoto's great Zen temples (Tofuku-ji chief among them) remain the reference point — aim for a weekday, since late-November weekends get overrun.
Four bilingual (FR/EN) self-guided itineraries built around Slam Dunk, Hikaru no Go, Your Name & Persona 5 — maps, timing, budgets included.