A product that’s as famous as beer or sausages and firmly associated with Germany is the Baumkuchen. It’s so well-known that it even made its way into the language as a loanword, バウムクーヘン (baumukūhen). You can find it all year round, not just in fancy deli shops, but in the supermarket too.

Karl Joseph Wilhelm Juchheim brought it to Japan. Born in Kaub am Rhein in 1886, he arrived in the German colony of Kiautschou in China in 1908, where he eventually set up his own business as a pastry chef. During the First World War, the Japanese won the siege of the colony and took Juchheim prisoner.

In 1917, he was moved to Hiroshima. There, an exhibition of German products took place in the Chamber of Commerce building (now known as the Atomic Bomb Dome). Juchheim presented a Baumkuchen there that he’d baked himself. And it seems he totally hit the right spot with it.

When the First World War ended, Juchheim decided to stay in Japan and make Baumkuchen with his wife. His pastry shop was first set up in Yokohama. After the Great Kantō Earthquake of 1923 devastated the city, they moved the company headquarters to Kōbe.

The Pacific War forced Juchheim to stop production in 1944. He died a year later, a day before Japan surrendered.

His company was re-established in 1950. Nowadays, the Juchheim Group, based in Kōbe, produces all kinds of pastries, including the Baumkuchen, of course.

The story of Momotarō, the Peach Boy, is a popular Japanese fairy tale.

Once upon a time, there was an old couple. When the woman went to a stream, she spotted a massive peach floating on the water. She took it home so she and her husband could eat it. But when they cut it open, they found a little boy inside - Momotarō. The boy grew up with them like their own son. He was incredibly strong, but also pretty lazy.

Years went by. When a bunch of ogres kept terrorising the village, Momotarō decided to head over to the ogre island and sort out the troublemakers. For provisions, his mum gave him a bag of millet dumplings (kibi dango).

On the way to the island, Momotarō met a monkey, a dog, and a pheasant. He fed them the millet dumplings and became mates with them. Together, they reached the ogre island and beat the ogres.

Momotarō and his mates headed back to the village and lived happily ever after.

What immediately catches your eye in Hiroshima are the old trams driving through the streets there. These are Japanese, but also original European trams, run by the light rail company Hiroden. People even call the Hiroshima tram network a rolling tram museum (動く電車の博物館).

In 1981, two decommissioned trams made it all the way from Dortmund to Japan. They ran in regular service for several years. One of the cars was then scrapped and used for spare parts. The other car got converted into a special party train. Nowadays, it’s out of service too. For a while, you could admire it acting as a café in front of the Hiroden company headquarters. Meanwhile, it’s on display in a nice dry spot at The Outlets Hiroshima.

By the way, all the trains are air-conditioned; even the really old models had air conditioning retrofitted in the 1980s. A technical miracle, or so it seems, since transport companies over here can’t even manage that on significantly newer carriages.

On the western outskirts of Kyōto, the Sagano Romantic Train runs along an old railway line right by the Hozu river. The train consists of several old carriages, one of which is open-air.

The starting point is Torokko Saga Station. It’s right next to the Saga-Arashiyama stop, which you can reach in a good fifteen minutes from Kyōto Station using the JR Sagano Line. You can pass the time waiting for the Romantic Train in a little exhibition and, of course, by buying some Omiyage.

I’d been looking forward to this trip ever since we started planning our holiday, but during the ride, I couldn’t really feel much railway romance. You sit on wooden benches and clatter along the tracks. The brakes keep screeching to pick up more passengers at the next stop. It goes through loads of tunnels. And if you sit on the wrong side, for most of the ride after the first stop you just stare at a hillside, while on the other side you’d have a (genuinely romantic) view of the gorge and the Hozugawa.

After about a 25-minute ride, you reach the final stop, Torokko Kameoka. From here, you’ve got three options for the journey back.

You can just take the Romantic Train straight back to Torokko Saga Station. We already had our return tickets and slightly regretted not being able to walk around the village a bit more.

Alternatively, you can walk to Umahori station and then take the JR Sagano Line back to Kyōto (about a 25-minute ride).

If you fancy something a bit different, you can take a boat ride back on the Hozugawa. You can get to the boarding point on foot or by taxi.

Tickets for the Romantic Train are available at Torokko Saga Station and all major ticket offices in the area, like at Kyōto Station. It’s a good idea to book your seats well in advance, especially if you want to snag a good seat or a spot in the open carriage. The ride costs 620¥ per person each way, and the Rail Pass isn’t valid for this train. Window seats have the letters A and D. To avoid staring at the hillside, try to get even-numbered seats. (All info as of May 2017.)

This cute manga tells the story of how a fish became a Shachihoko. We found the manga on a lantern at the Takamatsu Castle grounds.

You’ll often spot Shachihoko at temples and castles at the ends of roof ridges. They’re supposed to symbolically protect the building from fire.