Located at the northernmost tip of Japan, Hokkaidō is the second largest island of the archipelago, known for its vast landscapes and clearly defined seasons. It forms a single prefecture, yet showcases a stunning diversity of nature — from snow-covered mountains and crystal-clear lakes to deep forests and untamed plains.

​

Here, nature speaks with intensity: winters are harsh and magnificent, summers are cool and bright. Hokkaidō captivates with its sense of open space and calm, its Ainu heritage, its iconic wildlife — like the Kushiro cranes or northern foxes — and its generous cuisine, where seafood and local flavors take center stage. It’s a quieter, wilder Japan — raw, yet deeply vibrant — a place to find space, untouched beauty, and a rare sense of freedom.

When summer arrives in Hokkaidō, it paints an entirely different scene. Far from the stifling heat of the south, the island bursts into vivid color and delicate fragrance. Lavender fields ripple in the breeze, hills bloom with neat rows of soft or dazzling hues, like living paintings carefully traced by human hands. Here, nature is cultivated without losing its wild soul. It’s a soft, radiant summer — almost European at times — but with that distinct Japanese elegance in every detail. A suspended moment, where time slows down among fragrant paths and open skies.

And when the sun begins to set over Hokkaidō, a different kind of magic takes hold. Golden light glides over the lakes, clouds are tinted with soft and deep shades, and silence gradually settles in. Whether by the sea or a quiet lakeside, some evenings offer breathtaking displays — if the weather plays along. But when conditions align, Hokkaidō’s sky becomes a shifting canvas painted live by light. Fleeting, precious moments that make you want to do nothing but watch — and breathe.

And when the long summer days give way to winter, a completely different Hokkaidō is revealed. The light softens, the snow redraws the land with almost graphic precision. In Hakodate, the cold season transforms the city: seen from the mountaintop, it stretches between two oceans like the elegant tail of a whale. Not far from there, the star-shaped Goryōkaku fort becomes a serene winter tableau. Here, winter is more than a season — it’s a frame of silence and grace.

But Hakodate is just one fragment of what winter in Hokkaidō offers. Leave the cities behind, and you enter a world entirely shaped by snow. Silent hills, untouched fields, forests frozen in ice — everywhere, white dominates, soothing and almost unreal. Each tree becomes a sculpture, each road a fleeting path. The island empties of sound but fills with light. It’s a total winter, profound and still, where silence is as meaningful as the landscape.

And sometimes, winter in Hokkaidō becomes more than beautiful — it turns almost abstract. A lone red torii gate standing before icy waves seems to defy time and the elements. Farther on, a line of solitary trees cuts through a white sea, barely marked by a few scattered prints. Nothing needs to be added or removed — just the essential. Silence becomes a language, the landscape a meditation. In this endless whiteness, every shape, every colour takes on new meaning. Winter here invites not only to look, but to feel differently.

But beyond the frozen landscapes, Hokkaidō reveals another side of nature: the wildlife that endures — quiet, but always present.

Along the western coast, following the scenic Ororon Line, it’s not uncommon to spot the majestic Steller’s sea eagle perched in a tree or soaring over the icy sea. With its striking black-and-white plumage and massive yellow beak, this iconic bird embodies the strength and resilience of the region’s wildlife.

Farther out in the snowy plains or at the edge of a forest, the Hokkaidō red fox slips quietly by, its fiery silhouette standing out against the white vastness. Found all over the island, it symbolises both cleverness and adaptability — essential traits for surviving in such harsh surroundings.