Spring comes late to the north country.

My untrained eye failed to spot the cherry trees sprinkled here and there along the snowy Portland streets. This being my first spring in the city, the brilliant blossoms took me totally by surprise. And, like many people I’m sure, I can’t look at those pink petals without thinking of Japan.

Three springs ago I first visited. I could have gone somewhere closer, like Osaka or Fukuoka, where work visa applications are processed in a single day. But with my new Korean employers footing the bill, I figured I’d make the trip worthwhile: Tokyo it was.

It rained.

The gray day greeted me as the train shot out of Narita and into the countryside, past the giant windmill, and into the urban mass. Running out of the hostel early next morning to the Korean consulate, I snagged a small umbrella for 300 yen at a Ministop just down the road. Best buy of the trip.

For the rest of that day and the next, I racked up several soggy-shoed miles tramping around the city. Determined to scrimp away the three days until my visa was ready, I was on my own. No one at the hostel shared my desire to sightsee on foot in the steady drizzle. From my base near Azabu-Juban station, I hoofed it under overpasses, down alleyways, through Zen gardens, and around temple grounds.

And then there was the Imperial Palace.

Stepping out of the skyscraper jungle, I was awed by the scale of it. The broad processional avenues stretching up to the wide, carp-filled moat, then the stacked stones of the bulky fortress walls. With the dampness keeping tourists at bay, I felt alone, surrounded by historic immensity.

Passing through slowly, I finally exited by the west gate. Just on the other side, the scent of the blossoming trees struck me as suddenly as the scene they created. Thick, angled branches canopied the wide path, and petals fell with the rain, pillowing down on the umbrellas of passersby and blanketing the ground like pink snow.

It couldn’t have been more perfect.

Later, I befriended several hostellers despite my frugality. I convinced some to stay in and drink canned Asahi instead of bar-hopping Roppongi. Late nights and enthusiastic conversations. But what I remember most are the palace blossoms.