The day I felt small in Sapporo

Snow, scale, and the quiet magic of Japan, my final story from this extraordinary adventure…

For years it sat quietly on my bucket list.

One Sunday afternoon, Miroslav showed me YouTube videos of enormous snow castles rising from a city park in northern Japan. “This,” he said, “is Sapporo in winter.” I remember thinking: surely that cannot be real.

And then this February, I stood there myself, tiny, wide-eyed, and completely in awe.

A few facts before the magic

The festival began modestly in 1950, when local high school students built six snow statues in Odori Park. What started as a playful winter activity grew into one of Japan’s largest winter events, now attracting over two million visitors in a good year. It is considered the biggest in the world winning the first place ahead of China and Russia.

Today, it stretches across three main sites:

• Odori Site – The heart of the festival. About 1.5 km long in Odori Park, featuring the giant snow sculptures.

• Susukino Site – Famous for intricate ice sculptures, especially beautiful at night.

• Tsudome Site – A family-friendly area with snow slides and activities.

The most iconic works are the large-scale snow sculptures at Odori often 15–25 metres wide and up to 15 metres high. Many are created by teams from the Japan Ground Self-Defense Force, whose engineering precision makes the impossible look effortless.

There is also an International Snow Sculpture Contest, where teams from around the world compete. Each year the winning team changes but what never changes is the extraordinary level of detail. Every sculpture has a description, explaining the theme, the inspiration, and the countless hours of work behind it. This year’s winner is Finland, all female team.

And hours it takes both to build them and to truly see them.

When small becomes monumental

When I first stepped into Odori Park, I was fascinated by the sculptures near the entrance. They were beautiful, detailed, artistic, cute.

And then we kept walking.

And they became bigger.

And bigger.

And bigger.

Suddenly there were castles rising into the blue winter sky. A full equestrian scene. Even a snow version of the White House. Entire architectural masterpieces carved from frozen water.

I simply couldn’t believe it.

Standing in front of them, I felt so small. So wonderfully insignificant in the best possible way. It is rare in adulthood to feel that kind of pure awe.

It took us hours to walk through the park. Each sculpture deserved time. Each explanation panel invited reflection. I could write for days about the symbolism, the craftsmanship, the stories.

The scale is one thing.

The precision is another.

The creativity - endless.

Nightfall: When snow turns theatrical

We returned in the evening.

And that is when the festival transforms.

The giant sculptures become illuminated stages. Projection mapping dances across carved facades. Music fills the freezing air. Live performances bring warmth to the night. Copy the video link to your browser if you can spare 5.56 mins!

https://youtu.be/iR3V3BUPD9c?feature=shared

“Incredible” is an overused word.

But there is no other one.

The Susukino ice sculptures, crystal clear, lit from within leave you speechless. Yet for me, snow wins. Snow feels softer. More imaginative. More poetic.

So nice.

So creative.

So precise.

There truly are not enough words.

Frozen fingers and warm strangers

After hours outside, our fingers were numb and our energy low. We slipped into a small coffee shop nearby.

A lovely American man and a Japanese woman shifted their chairs and made space for us. Within minutes, we were chatting like old friends. We exchanged details, stories, laughter.

The Japanese lady was from Osaka. She shared so many cultural insights, one that stayed with me:

Some restaurants in Japan charge a small fee if you leave food on your plate.

Why?

Because wasting food is not acceptable. And because you should not pile your plate with more than you need.

How cool is that?

I already knew that leaving food is considered disrespectful in Japan. Throughout our trip, every accommodation included breakfast. I developed a quiet ritual: I would take just one or two items, eat them, and only return if I was still hungry. Respect first. Appetite second.

By the end of breakfast, I had often clocked a surprising number of steps walking to and back from the buffet table.

Small disciplines. Big meaning.

Yakiniku and seafood evenings

One evening we enjoyed a beautiful seafood dinner at the 11th floor of a large building with beautiful city views. Hokkaido does seafood exceptionally well.

Another night we experienced Yakiniku, Japanese BBQ where you grill the meat yourself at the table. Laughter, warmth, smoke curling upward, the perfect winter contrast to the icy outdoors.

Atmosphere matters in Japan. Care. Order. Precision. Nothing feels accidental.

A snowstorm farewell

We rounded off our Japanese adventure with the festival.

On departure day, a heavy snowstorm blanketed the city. Our taxi driver drove at what felt like summer-road speed. I told Nebojsa more than once that my father would have confiscated his licence and removed him from the car immediately.

Yet somehow, with quiet Japanese confidence, we arrived safely at the airport.

We boarded the plane and sat inside it for an hour while it was carefully de-iced. It was - 15 degrees. Precision again. No rushing what matters.

The flight home was smooth.

What stays with me

Japan leaves a mark.

Hospitality.

Kindness.

Care.

Order.

Incredible history.

The best snow I have ever seen.

But above all - uniqueness.

In a world that is increasingly similar everywhere, Japan protects its identity. That is its greatest gift.

We already know we are coming back.

Cherry blossom season is calling.

And Okinawa is next, one of the world’s Blue Zones. Visiting all nine Blue Zones is quietly becoming one of our shared life projects, and Okinawa will move us one step further along that path.

For now, I simply say:

Thank you, Japan.

For the snow that made me feel small.

For the strangers who felt like friends.

For the reminder that beauty when crafted with discipline and heart can rise 15 metres into a winter sky and still feel human.

We left Sapporo in a snowstorm, but I know we’ll return under falling cherry blossoms, because some countries are not visited once they are revisited for life.

It’s funny how journeys begin. Sometimes with a plane ticket. Sometimes with a conversation. And sometimes with your son showing you YouTube videos on a quiet Sunday afternoon - thank you, Miroslav, this one started with you.

Some experiences are too big for words and this was one of them.