
Every entry carries the honest round-trip time from the berth — transit included, 60-minute rule respected.
Bonito seared over burning straw, salted, and eaten before the smoke clears — Kochi’s defining dish done theatrically at Myojinmaru’s Hirome Market stall. Non-negotiable.
One of only twelve original castles — keep, gates and palace all survived. Climb barefoot-steep stairs to the top and understand why nobody ever took it.
Sixty stalls, shared tables, day-drinking locals who will toast you — Kochi’s living room. Come hungry, leave with friends you cannot name.
The crescent beach where Sakamoto Ryoma’s statue stares at the Pacific he opened Japan to. Needs wheels — pair it with a guided loop rather than gambling on taxis.

Castle, market, Katsurahama and the coast with 194 reviews of proof — the operator that cruise passengers keep recommending to each other. Fits only real full-day calls.

The city’s two anchors with a guide who explains what the plaques do not — and who watches your all-aboard clock so you can stop doing the math.
Three hundred years old, a kilometer long: yuzu, tomatoes, knives, ginger the size of fists. If your call lands on a Sunday, rearrange everything else around it.
Kochi grows most of Japan’s yuzu, and it shows up in juice, ponzu, kosho paste and soft serve. Buy the ponzu from Umaji village — chefs hoard it.
Sweet-potato sticks fried in fresh oil hourly — Kochi’s snack aristocracy. The warm bag from the flagship shames every supermarket version.
A thousand years of paper and six hundred of blacksmithing — Tosa washi glows and Tosa knives outlive their owners. Both pack flat and clear customs.
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