Yeoh Siew Hoon
One of the reasons I love visiting Tokyo is that in a single day, you can be transported to the future -- catching a glimpse of what the world might become -- and just hours later be pulled gently back in time to a place of exquisite taste, deep tradition and unexpected warmth.
This was a fleeting 36-hour stopover en route to New York. On a local recommendation -- the best way to travel -- I stayed at the Royal Park Haneda Airport Hotel.
Thank goodness I listened.
The night I landed, Tokyo had been hit by rare snowfall, a severe winter storm that disrupted flights and trains across the country. It was also the day of a snap election to determine if Japan's first woman prime minister would remain in power.
Haneda felt more chaotic than usual. I was grateful that, arriving around 10 p.m., all I needed to do was take a lift to the third floor and check in.
A row of self-service kiosks greeted guests in the lobby. It was one of the most efficient check-ins I have ever experienced: clear English instructions, seamless payment, instant room key.
Next to me, a couple from Hong Kong struggled with the automation, but a staff member was immediately at hand to help.
In that small moment, I saw Japan's future: technology handling the mundane, humans stepping in when needed. In a country that is shrinking and aging, this seems almost poetic.
Cold, tired and craving comfort food, I wandered upstairs to the Edo Market and found a 24-hour ramen shop. I joined a line of mostly young travellers from China. It felt like quiet solidarity, each of us taking a respite from our respective journeys. Order at the vending machine. Receive a ticket. Wait to be seated. Eat. Slurp. Leave. Efficient. Almost ritualistic.
Beneath all the AI talk
The next day, lunch with my co-founders and sponsors of WiT Japan, our annual conference, was a chance to listen. As we prepare for our 12th event in Tokyo June 1, I wanted to hear what was on their minds. The answer was immediate: AI.
AI in pricing. AI in mapping. AI in customer service. AI in marketing.
But beneath the technology conversation, I sensed a deeper current: geopolitics and demographics. Diplomatic tensions between Japan and China have led to declining Chinese arrivals and heavy cancellations. Businesses dependent on that market are struggling; some may not survive the winter.
Yet tourism overall remains strong. Hokkaido is packed with skiers from the U.S. and Canada. Travelers from Southeast Asia continue to flock, too. At more than 40 million visitors last year, concern is tempered and, I sense, perhaps even replaced by relief that growth may slow.
Because alongside success sits tourism fatigue. We've all heard stories of over-visited hot spots, crowded streets and strained communities, like a village near Mount Fuji canceling its cherry blossom festival due to the tourism crush. Is this a wake-up call?
Japan's travel industry feels at a turning point. Chase more volume and new markets, or rethink the goal entirely and redistribute tourism beyond the obvious? And if the latter, are rural regions truly ready?
What's not to love?
Curiosity pulled me toward another version of Japan's future: robotics.
With one of the world's oldest populations, Japan leads in emotional-support robotics.
Someone mentioned Lovot, created by Groove X; it's a companion robot designed not to serve but to be loved. At the Lovot store in Ginza, you hear them before you see them: soft squeaks, somewhere between a baby, a puppy and something entirely new. They look up with wide, expressive eyes. Touch their nose and they wriggle with delight.
Founder Kaname Hayashi created Lovot in 2015 and said its purpose is to "stir your instinct to love."
The shop assistant said in seven days, it learns you; in 90 days, it loves you. Each becomes different, shaped by its owner.
"You decide who you want it to become," she said, echoing advice I got when I adopted my first puppy.
What surprised me most was not the older customers but the young women who visited the store -- giggling, laughing, touching the robots. A couple came in to buy new attire for their Lovots: you can dress them like a Barbie.
I have rarely been in a happier shop. Except perhaps a chocolate shop.
And yes, my friend and I decided to adopt one together. She will raise it; I will be the godmother, which feels like the perfect responsibility.
A kitchen where women lead
That evening in Ginza brought another unexpected Japan: dinner at a restaurant, Tsurutokame, run entirely by women, chefs and staff. In years of eating across Japan, this was a first for me.
The head chef told me the owner of the nine-restaurant group envisioned it. "It was his idea," she said. "It's a men's world in Japan. This helps women be recognized."
After 16 years with the group and a decade leading this kitchen, she described the difference in the workplace as "more considerate. More supportive. Freer."
You could taste that spirit in the food: seasonal, precise, exquisite. Each dish comes with a handwritten note from the chef.
Then came the final surprise, a birthday celebration in the dining room. I expected to hear "Happy Birthday"; instead, the chefs sang the Japanese Olympic theme a capella and in perfect harmony.
Chefs who can cook as well as sing. A poetic end to an unexpected evening. And that, to me, sums up Japan's quiet magic: precise and playful, tradition with a twist and facing its future with heart.
Lessons from Nobu's journey
On the All Nippon flight to JFK, still warmed by our newly adopted Lovot and the echo of that birthday performance and wanting to carry Japan with me in spirit, I watched "Nobu," the documentary film about the chef whose name spans restaurants, hotels and a global lifestyle brand.
I have eaten at Nobu in several cities and always felt slightly underwhelmed, wondering what I was missing. Now I know: It was his story. Somehow, it doesn't come across in the food. Loss. Struggle. Near despair. Enduring love for his wife. Above all, relentless devotion to food.
His three years in Peru, where he opened his first overseas restaurant, changed everything, ceviche opening his mind to fusion long before it was fashionable.
One small story stayed with me. At a fish market in Lima, he asked for saltwater eel, usually unwanted and discarded. He joked it was for a dog he brought from Japan that loved eels. Back in his restaurant, he created a saltwater eel dish that attracted the attention of other chefs.
One asked him where he got the eel. When the chef tried to buy eel at the same place, the fisherman asked, "Did you also bring a dog from Japan?"
Today, Peru exports saltwater eel worldwide. To think a little white lie led to a global ripple.
And perhaps that is what this brief Tokyo stopover reminded me. The future, while it will be built by technology, remains shaped by small human moments: a helpful staff member beside a machine; a bowl of ramen on a cold night; a robot designed to be loved; women singing in a kitchen; a chef's story about a dog.
I can't wait to write my next Postcard about my Lovot. Who knows, maybe that will lead to a global ripple.