M&G’s Kyoto elopement began before the ceremony, before the sake, before the temple, and before the city had fully woken up. I met them early on a December morning in the old streets around Ninenzaka, just as the light was beginning to move across the rooftops. … It was a beautiful way to start the day.

The vow renewal itself was intentionally simple. There was no officiant and no formal structure beyond what felt meaningful to them. In the quiet of the venue, they simply read their own vows to each other, exchanged rings, and allowed the moment to unfold naturally. No audience.No performance. No pressure to turn the experience into something larger than it needed to be.

Most people arrive in Japan expecting that, over time, they’ll learn the language, understand the culture, and eventually fit in. That was never really my experience… Not long after moving here, I set myself up with a satellite dish so I could follow the Premier League and BBC News. Looking back, that probably mattered more than I realised at the time.

It’s a fair question—and one worth asking before you book anything. Tokyo is already an unforgettable place to visit. The food, the pace, the contrasts … It doesn’t need anything added to make it memorable. So where does a photoshoot fit into that? Well, the answer depends on you. For some couples, it becomes one of the most meaningful parts of their trip. For others, it ends up feeling unnecessary — or worse, forced.

Japan has a reputation for politeness. For many visitors, it’s one of the defining impressions — the order, the quiet, the sense that everyone is aware of everyone else. There’s an expectation that this politeness extends evenly, creating a kind of shared social warmth. And often, it does. But not always in the way people expect.

Anniversaries and vow renewals aren’t about spectacle. They don’t need an audience or a schedule. More often than not, they pass quietly — a dinner, a trip, a small moment acknowledged before life carries on again. But occasionally, there’s a feeling that it deserves more. Not something elaborate. Just something intentional.

Friday 11th March 2011, a day that rocked an entire nation and sent shock waves around the world, both literally and figuratively. It is a day that will be remembered with sorrow and awe. It was a day that many knew would come, and despite nonchalance and bravado, everybody here feared it.

It was the Big One.

Tokyo is a city of contrasts, and one of the most fascinating places in the world for couples photography. Ancient shrines and temples stand quietly beside neon streets. Small neighbourhood alleyways open suddenly onto wide boulevards filled with movement and light.

The image above was taken from one of the highest viewing points in Tokyo — about as close to a bird’s-eye view as you can get. A vast, sprawling metropolis ... Despite the density, crime is low, the streets are clean, and people mostly keep to themselves. The city is designed with convenience in mind: trains are frequent and almost always on time; convenience stores are open 24 hours a day and live up to their name… And then there is city hall. Even this is, for the most part, orderly and efficient …

A vow renewal is a deeply personal decision. For some couples, it becomes a tradition — re-declaring their commitment on annual international trips. For others, it marks a milestone — five, ten, twenty-five years or more. Some feel the need to re-commit following a turbulent period in their lives. And sometimes, it is simply about honouring a marriage that began without the ceremony it deserved. Whatever the reason, a vow renewal is a conscious act. A declaration that the bond still endures. That the love is still alive. That you choose — once again — to continue. Fifteen years ago, M&J were married without the ceremony. There were no formal vows spoken in a meaningful setting, no gathering that marked the moment with intention. Life moved quickly; children arrived; responsibilities took over.

There’s no point pretending otherwise: we’ve all noticed it. Not in headlines or government briefings, but on foot, on trains, and in the small frictions of daily life that only register when you’ve been here long enough to remember something different. For years, my wife and I had a ritual. Once a year, usually sometime in the first quarter, we’d escape to Kyoto for a week. … Kyoto back then felt expansive and unhurried. Even the famous places allowed space. It was calm in a way that felt almost deliberate. We could relax and disconnect. It was bliss.

B&C arrived in Japan for the trip of a lifetime. They set aside three weeks to live in and explore the country properly — to walk, to wander, to get lost, and to let the days unfold at an unhurried pace, before getting married in a secret mountain garden in Kyoto at the end of their trip. Three or four weeks in Japan changes the way you experience it. It gives you time to stop chasing highlights, start noticing the smaller things, and soak up the atmosphere of day-to-day living. It’s certainly how I like to travel!

And B&C wanted their photographs to reflect that pace.

When I arrived in Japan in 2003, I didn’t come looking for a new life. I came for the experience — a year, maybe two — without imagining the country would shift under my feet, or that I would shift with it. Back then, Japan felt firmly anchored in the analogue world. People clung to cash with white-knuckled conviction. Flip phones ruled the world, and were the envy of it. ATMs had operating hours — even shutting down entirely for four days over the New Year holiday. Daily life ran on habits that felt immovable, accepted without question.

Tokyo is an incredible place to photograph — electric, peaceful, modern, ancient. But in recent years, something has shifted. As tourism has surged, so has resident frustration with photographers, influencers, and visitors who sometimes treat Japan more like a stage set than a living city. Some of this frustration is understandable. Pathways get blocked. Moss and flower beds gets trampled on. Private homes become props. And in a city where space is already tight, even small moments of thoughtlessness add up quickly.

It’s Christmas. I’ve always liked Christmas. Not just the day itself, but the stretch of time around it. As a musician in the UK, it was never something that began and ended on the 25th. There were concerts and carol services stretching from late November right up to Christmas Day itself. And it didn’t end there. Christmas Day was just the first of twelve. It was a period of time you lived inside, rather than passed through. Christmas Day was a marker, not a finale.

If you’re considering eloping abroad, Japan often rises to the top of the list — and for good reason. For couples searching “elope in Japan,” the appeal is usually a mix of beauty, culture, and the promise of something quieter and more meaningful than a traditional wedding day. But eloping in Japan is not the same as eloping elsewhere. It is shaped by permissions, cultural expectations, and a strong sense of place. Understanding those realities early allows couples to plan a day that feels calm, intentional, and genuinely intimate. This guide answers the most common questions couples ask when they begin exploring whether Japan is the right place to elope.

When I first arrived in Japan in 2003, I thought I had some idea of what I was stepping into. I’d travelled, I’d read the guidebooks, I’d watched the films. I assumed living abroad was simply “life, but different” — familiar enough, just with new scenery. What I didn’t understand was that Japan doesn’t just offer a different lifestyle. It offers an entirely different logic! And it took me years to realise how much of that logic I misunderstood at the start.

There’s something deeply moving about standing together years after your wedding day — hands entwined, hearts and heads a little wiser — and saying “I still choose you.”

For many couples, renewing wedding vows isn’t about recreating the past; it’s about celebrating how far they’ve come, recognising the challenges they may have had to overcome and looking ahead to the next chapter. And in Japan, where every season tells its own story — cherry blossoms for renewal, autumn leaves for gratitude, winter stillness for reflection — a vow renewal is somehow much more meaningful…

I couldn’t tell you the exact moment Japan became home.

Maybe it was when I upgraded my living quarters and moved into a high-rise condominium in Ikebukuro. Perhaps it was when Ayako and I got married… Whenever it happened, there was no ceremony, no milestone, no neat line between the life I thought was temporary and the one that had so very quietly become permanent.

I never planned to live in Japan. In fact, the idea barely crossed my mind beyond the films and books that coloured my teens with distant images of neon streets and quiet temples.

London was home, music was my entire world, and my future felt mapped out in rehearsals, concert halls, and late-night practice rooms. But life has a way of nudging you sideways.