Nintendo Museum

Listen for a moment. Beyond the low hum of Uji's quiet streets, you may hear something unexpected here — laughter, a cheer, the soft click of buttons. The building in front of you is clean and modern, pale and calm. Yet inside, it holds more than a century of play. This is the Nintendo Museum, and it stands on ground that has belonged to the company for decades.

Before we go further, picture the town around you. Uji sits just south of Kyoto, along a fast, clear river. For centuries, people here have grown green tea on the surrounding hills. The town is also home to Byodo-in, a temple so admired that its hall appears on Japan's ten-yen coin. So this is an old, cultured place. A video game museum might seem an odd neighbour... until you hear how Nintendo began.

Nintendo did not start with electronics. It started with paper. In 1889, a craftsman named Fusajiro Yamauchi opened a small business in Kyoto. He made hanafuda — flower cards. These are small, stiff playing cards printed with plants and animals tied to the twelve months of the year. Pine for January. Plum blossom for February. Cherry blossom for March. The cards were handmade and sold to players across the city.

That is the first surprise most visitors miss. The company behind Mario and Zelda is older than the automobile industry in Japan. It is older than cinema. For most of its first several decades, Nintendo was simply a card maker. And it still makes hanafuda today, more than a century later. The museum treats these cards with the same care it gives to its famous consoles.

Now look at the site itself. This building was once the Uji Ogura Plant, a Nintendo factory. Over the years, it produced playing cards and later served as a repair centre for the company's products. Visitors who sent in a broken device may never have known it came here. The museum opened in October 2024, turning a working industrial site into a place to explore the company's story.

Inside, the journey usually begins upstairs, on the floor dedicated to history. Here, long glass cases hold objects from every era of the company. You will see old cards and board games. You will see toys from the 1960s and 1970s. Then come the handheld games, the home consoles, and the controllers that many visitors held as children. The displays are bright, orderly and detailed.

One object deserves special attention: the Ultra Hand. It is a simple extending arm made of crossed plastic strips, with a grabber at the end. It became a big hit for Nintendo in the 1960s. It was designed by Gunpei Yokoi, an engineer who later helped create the Game and Watch and the Game Boy. His philosophy was to use familiar, proven technology in new, playful ways. That idea runs through the whole museum.

Here is a second surprise. Before video games, Nintendo tried many different businesses. Some worked, some did not. The company experimented with toys, gadgets and novelty products of all kinds. The museum does not hide this. Instead, it shows a company that kept testing ideas until it found the right one. Watch the faces around you in this section. Many adults stop here, smiling at a toy they had forgotten.

Then comes the era most people recognise. The Family Computer, known outside Japan as the Nintendo Entertainment System, arrived in the 1980s. After it came a long line of consoles and handhelds. The cases show how controllers changed shape over time — from flat rectangles to rounded grips, motion sensors and detachable pieces. Seen side by side, they tell a story about hands. Every design tries to make play feel more natural.

Downstairs, the mood changes. The ground floor is about doing, not only looking. Here, visitors can try interactive experiences inspired by Nintendo products. Some use oversized controllers placed on the floor, where people move and work together to play. Others let you test classic toys and devices for yourself. Groups of strangers often end up laughing together. It feels less like a gallery and more like a playground for all ages.

There is also a link back to the very beginning. The museum offers a way to engage with hanafuda, the flower cards that started everything. If you have never played, this is a good chance to learn. The images are beautiful on their own — red suns, white cranes, deep green pines. Hold one, and you hold a piece of Kyoto craft that predates every screen in the building.

A practical word before you go on. Entry to the museum requires an advance reservation, and demand has been very high since opening. If you are here, you planned well. Give yourself time to move slowly through the history floor, and leave energy for the interactive area downstairs. The museum shop is popular too, so expect a queue if you visit near closing.

When you step back outside, take a breath and look around. The streets of Uji are calm again. Somewhere nearby, tea leaves are drying, and the river runs toward Kyoto. Behind you is a story that began with paper cards in a small shop and grew into a company known across the world. As you walk away, notice how ordinary this building looks from the street. Much of what made it special was always inside... in the people who came here to play.